


Judge, Jury, and Executioner

by GallifreyGod



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Arguing, Detective Byers, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Angst, Illinois, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-01-15 05:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyGod/pseuds/GallifreyGod
Summary: ❝How do you clear the name of someone you trust when you barely even recognize them anymore?❞Three years after Jim Hopper's capture, Joyce, now officially Detective Byers, has managed to bring him home to her brand new life in Illinois. Although she expected Hopper to be different now, she certainly hadn't prepared herself for what was to come. When Larry Kline is murdered back in Hawkins, she insists on trying to solve the case herself - but after all she finds, she isn't sure if she still knows the man that she has brought back into her world.





	1. Chapter One - We Can't Go Back

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit, here we go again
> 
> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: The Truth by Audiomachine

** [Watch the trailer here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y1xazKSwgTE) **

****

* * *

Time had hardened her. The soft and welcoming shell she recognized from the reflection in the mirror had taken a backseat in the constant state of her personality. Of course, her children still received the unconditional love and comfort from her, but the rest of the world wasn't so lucky. Time had left her viewing only damage in that same reflection, most commonly after the steam of her morning shower had fogged the glass, showing the true image of the bags beneath her exhausted eyes. Scars on her body, just a shade lighter than her skin tone had gained such a quantity that she couldn't remember where half of them had come from. The same scars she had watched her blood run from too many times, swirling in crimson down the drain along with another shred of hope and peace.

Time hadn't been the only culprit for the change. The new life she had adapted to; built from the ground up, that had played a large part in the transformation. The gun that remained rightfully attached at her hip. The hard-earned golden badge that had been pinned to her uniform. The job required this new lifestyle. The harsh and detached nature of her words, the thicker skin that doubled as kevlar for the horrors of the world that she had seen. Cigarettes and cups of coffee that had been brought to her lips were no longer meant for the stress from the demons taking residence under her bed. Now, they were utilized to clear her head enough during the sleepless nights of active cases and working overtime. 

Detective Byers — that always did have a nice ring to it.

She was good at her job. Damn good, thank you very much. She had been given a new life, and even under the awful circumstances that had warranted that, she knew to do better than her last life. Retail and sales wouldn't feed three hungry mouths at the table, not including herself. She had made the decision to enroll in the Police Academy not long after the move. Maybe it was for change, or maybe it was to torture herself with exposure therapy to what she was most afraid of — which, for a while, was everything. After more time had passed and she had broken in the uniform, she had grown to love the job. It made her feel stronger, putting away the thoughts in her head that convinced her that she was weak. All of which were usually residuals from Lonnie's vocal stabs. Anyone who had the gall to say she was weak was someone who clearly hadn't seen the things she had seen. She wasn't weak. She knew it took a hell of a lot more balls to become a better version of herself than to chase the ghosts of her old life.

Sometimes, she wondered if her old life was worth chasing. Obviously not. That much had been given the clarity it deserved, especially after she had sacrificed it all. The move, the job, the home, the lifestyle. There was no getting it back. She could try and try. She could fight until the beds of her nails were tarnished with blood and flesh. She had spent two and a half years trying to pry her old life back into her own grasp before moving. That all changed after Will had gone missing, she just wasn't ready to admit it to herself. But Hopper... she was sad to say that it was different that time around. Not because he was worth more than her son. Not at all. But rather, she had nothing left to stay for. Nothing at all, really. He had always been the non-variable that Hawkins would always have; anchoring her back. That was how the world worked. It questioned how badly she would fight for things to remain the same, and then it began to pick away at the details that had made her case solid. Her kids weren't safe, her home wasn't safe, and now there wasn't a damn body in Hawkins who could make an impact on her decision quite like Hopper could. The world had won its sick little game. It always did. 

A part of her was proud to look in the mirror and see the change. As terrifying as it was to look and no longer recognize the reflection, she was proud to see the growth. Her eyes weren't dark and tired from the stress of fearing for her and her family's lives. They were shaded and sunken from the effort she was putting in to make the world a safer place. Even if it was just a town slightly bigger than Hawkins, she could die someday knowing that she helped at least one person. She could admire the muscles that had hardened in her arms from learning to steady her shooting aim. She could praise herself knowing that she was doing everything she could to feed her family and provide them with a better life. The change wasn't pretty, but it was necessary. Necessary was all she needed anymore. 

Just when she had thought that life couldn't change any more than it already had, the world had thrown her another earthquake. Murray — it always started with Murray, didn't it? Badgering her with claims that he believed Hopper was still alive. The first few times, she had rightfully wanted to slug him in the eye socket. Everything just burned. God, it burned so deeply in the lining of her stomach. Alive, dead, captured, or free; none of it mattered. It still fucking stung. But he made his case stronger with each phone call and informational spontaneous blitz attack on her at the station house. When had she woken up and traded spots with Jim? 

She must've read Murray's composed file at least eight hundred times before it occurred to her that he made a strong point. Still, she tried to remain cautious. Murray was a conspiracy theorist. Getting her hopes up even just the slightest bit could cause her irreversible damage. So, he hunted for more. He had become so hellbent on the idea that Hopper was in Russia, she felt crazy as she started to believe him more and more. 

As soon as Murray's freelance research had located the exact coordinates of Kamchatka, Russia, the entire operation stepped up to a level she had never expected. It had taken more convincing than she had anticipated, but Sam Owens had finally started to believe there could be merit in Murray's findings. A full year had passed since any of them had even an inkling that Hopper could still be alive, but when the time had come, she had fished her old Soviet uniform out from the bottom of her closet. It had remained littered with the blood-stained bullet holes from when Hopper had sprayed the guards and techs with a clip of lead. Untouched, lying in the bottom drawer since the move. It had taken a thorough investigation with Owens' side of the law before getting the government clearance that they needed in order to infiltrate the prison. There were no meetings between government officials and liaisons. It was treated as a hostile rescue mission. Get in, get out, and stay the fuck alive. Five soldiers on loan from the army, Owens, Murray, and Joyce was what it had taken to finally receive the answer she had been begging to find out. 

Was he still alive? 

The moment his cell door had opened, she had been flung into the past when she had found him in the tunnels. Instead of being swallowed alive by the vines, he was shackled to the solitary windowless cement walls. Their reuniting wasn't how she had shamefully pictured it during the sleepless nights when her head hit the pillow. There was no colliding kiss where his calloused palms had grabbed her cheeks and enveloped her in a long-awaited kiss. Instead, it was a quick snap of the locks and her hand tightly grabbing and pulling him by the wrist. 

There hadn't been any time for monotonous small talk or reassurance. Each of their lives had balanced on the line of how many seconds they had left ticking away on the clock. How many grains of sand were left at the top of the hourglass? She barely had any time to confirm to him that El was safe and alive back at home before they had hauled him out of his cell as quickly as possible. They had made it out of the institution in the nick of time, dodging full metal jackets from the watchtowers as they disappeared into the night.

The moment she laid her eyes on him in the light of day, the crushing guilt had sunken in her stomach. Three years. Three long, torturous years she had dragged her feet. It was out of her hands; she knew that. But the thought of him rotting away in that prison while she refused to believe Murray's theories, it was already necrotizing her soul for the short time she had to even think about it. 

He looked different. Just as she had lost recognition of her own reflection, she had lost her recognition for his too. What the hell was she expecting? That she'd waltz in and see that the man sitting in the cell was the same exact man who had smiled and shed a tear for her the last time he laid eyes on her? He had changed more than she could've ever anticipated. The grey strands that lightened his chestnut hair had become more prominent. At least sixty pounds had been shaved from his body, leaving him smaller than she had ever seen him. He was left only as a whisper of himself. She did everything she could to avoid seeming alarmed by the change. Everything would be different now; the least she could do was to try not to inaugurate any more trauma within him.

Every few minutes she glanced over towards the passenger seat where he sat. He had been gazing out the window for several hours, staying nearly mute as the drive lagged on. They had fled Russia as quickly as possible, forgoing a nice night in the Hilton to catch up on beauty sleep. As far as the Russians were concerned, they could've been severely punished for their invasion. Staying even remotely static in the Union's jurisdiction could've jeopardized everything. 

In fact, he had been nearly silent for the entire trip back to the United States. She had seen all that she needed to see to understand why he was completely shut down. The simple sight of the institution was enough to traumatize anyone. She'd never be able to erase all of the images from her mind, but it didn't matter anymore. Her bones felt as if they were weighted with bags of sand and it took every ounce of willpower for her to keep her eyes open at the wheel. They were finally on the last leg of the journey home. 

Home. Was there even such a place anymore? Their shelter was more like it. Nothing felt like home no matter how many times she had considering decorating the place to look like the cover of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. The silence between the family had carried out all the way to their new house in Illinois. Everybody ignoring their trauma by keeping themselves as occupied as possible. To hell with anyone who thought they'd be ready to face the pain after three years. 

Jonathan spent most of his time at the college he was attending — usually coming home only if he was needed. El had made a new group of friends at school who she spent more time with than anyone else. Will kept himself busy with the AV club he had helped start at their new school. And Joyce? Well, Joyce liked her nights to be spent with the lamplight of her desk, illuminating her DD-5's in the empty bullpen at the precinct.

None of them could stand the silence anymore. How it rang so loudly in the empty rooms of the soulless house. They were a family, but there was no room to deny that they were each broken in their own ways. For a while, the ringing within the silence was her mind's interpretation of another case of close-range gunshot tinnitus. That was before she had to allow herself to realize that it was just the loneliness echoing off of the walls. The family hadn't recuperated this time — not that she could blame them. How many times did they need to be traumatized before they understood that things would never go back to normal? 

Three years without seeing his face or hearing his voice. Three years of her raising his daughter in hopes to make his memory proud. All that time, she had actually believed he was only but a memory anymore. Just another body turning to dust because the right people got the wrong idea. 

But there he was, drowsily watching as the passed the trees on the endlessly long road. She wanted to ask him what was running through his mind; what had he seen for three years that had nearly left him mute. The glassiness of his eyes, the never-ending days of survival, and the shell of a man in front of her. Who was he? 

"Joyce," he whispered, breaking the silence. His voice sounded deeper and more hoarse than she had remembered. As if he had spent weeks screaming until his vocal cords bled. She tried to contain her knee-jerk reaction to the change in his timbre. "Where are you going? This isn't the way to Hawkins."

She closed her eyes for a split second before refocusing on the road. Her forehead creased with a shaky exhale as she tried to search for the right words. Did she need to be soft and sensitive? Did she need to just treat him as if no time at all had passed? What did he need?

The truth. 

The truth, she told herself. 

"Hop," she murmured before taking a thick and audible gulp. Her chest rose and fell as her breathing began to speed up. She was violently forcing her eyes to stay forward and away from his. "We can't go back to Hawkins." her words were annunciated slowly, ensuring that he heard the deep regret in her voice. She bit her lip as her head shook slightly, losing the battle of her focus remaining on the road in front of them. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the hurt and confusion written on his face.

With his brows furrowed, he slowly turned his head to stare at her. She had her eyes closed once again, just long enough to keep them straight forward on the road. His jaw dipped slightly, trying to register her words and their meaning. "Joyce... I just wanna go home," the pleading tone of his voice caused her to take in a sharp inhale. Nothing quite like a straight shot to the heart. 

This conversation was bound to happen. She had prepared for each and every scenario of how it was going to happen. Not that it made it any better. None of the options she had thought about seemed as if they would slide nicely into a conversation that wouldn't cause more harm. There would never be an easy way of saying it — any of it. Anything she knew, anything she had discovered. It would always burn. Taking another deep breath, she tried to channel the detachment she had learned how to execute in the academy. "You don't have a home in Hawkins anymore, Hopper." Carefully, slowly, painfully. "The cabin was destroyed, we fixed as much of it as we could but we sold it and put the money into a college fund for El,"

Before she could even finish, a sharp shift in his voice filled the cab of the car. "You're keeping something else from me," his stare was burning a hole in the side of her face, lasering through the whites of her eyes as he waited for her to finally face him. 

Her detachment was faltering and she knew it wouldn't work for much longer. How could a man she hadn't seen in three years still have this impact on her? To read her like a book, knowing that her next words would only be another stab to the abdomen.

"I made a deal in order to get you out of Kamchatka." she white-knuckled the steering wheel as she ground the words out through pressed teeth. "Everybody in Hawkins thinks that you're dead. They only allowed me to go to Russia if I promised we wouldn't step foot back in Hawkins again. Especially you."

Her head flickered to the side, just long enough to capture his incredulous expression before finishing her statement.

"If you show up after everyone thinks that you're dead, people are gonna start sniffing around. Someone is bound to pick up on the fact that you were taken somewhere by someone. They couldn't risk any civilians picking up on clues that they were covering something up. Even after Will, they struggled to keep it a secret." she glanced back over at him to read his final expression. With tears welling heavily in her eyes, she cocked her head and gave him the most sympathetic look she could possibly conjure up. "I'm sorry, Hopper. We can't go back." 

She heard him gulp as he shifted his view down into his lap. Once again, the silence rose back up to unbearable levels. Her eyes burned. Her chest burned. Everything fucking burned from the inside out. She let her grip loosen off the steering wheel, fearing she might rip the damn thing right off of the dash if she wasn't careful enough. Her eyes focused on the dotted yellow lines of the midnight road, anxiously counting them as she listened to the wind blow against the frame of the moving car. 

"So uh..." he exhaled deeply, turning his head back to look out the window at the rows of greenery. "Where is home now?" 

"Illinois. 'Bout an hour or two away from Sesser. Bigger than Hawkins," she responded, her voice turning somewhat upwards for the first time in days. She was proud of her home in Illinois. More than anything, she was prouder of her new reputation. She had shed from the rude and unrelenting notions that Hawkins had about her. 'Crazy Joyce' was now just Joyce Byers. Mother of three, hard-working cop, secret international war hero. Illinois' version of herself was just Indiana's but refined. A fresh start that, to her surprise, had actually worked. So far, Hawkins had somewhat returned to its status of what it was before the events of '83. Granted, it now housed a few fearful families and conspiracy theorists. But the same way the wind blows, everything after Starcourt had blown over within a few months. As far as she knew, no more monsters had risen. No gates to be closed or evil scientists to be put down like a junkyard dog. 

Once she left, it all went quiet. 

"You moved near Murray?" he broke the silence, cracking a small smile for the first time since she had rescued him. A rare and fleeting moment before the upwards of his lips dropped back into their new and nearly permanent state of flatness. 

"Couldn't have saved your ass without his help," she smirked, finally feeling some relief after seeing a hint of the familiar sparkle in his eyes. "You'll like the place. It's a farmhouse, we got it for a steal, really. Enough room for everybody. Big ol' backyard for the dog to run around in. Tons of room for the kids."

"Dog?" he asked. "I thought Chester died?"

"Yeah," she replied, momentarily losing the kid gloves she was wearing to crack an actual joke around him. For just a split second, she had jumped off of the eggshells she had been walking on. "We resurrected him while you were gone. You missed it, we had a whole Pet Semetary problem for a while... Kidding!" she added quickly as soon as she saw the mortified shock on his face. "We got a puppy when we moved. I figured the kids deserved some happiness after... everything."

Just like that, the decrescendo. Her voice plummeting levels as soon as she realized that walking on eggshells was the safest option around him. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip, hoping to buffer the reaction he would have. She didn't know what to expect from him anymore. That scared the living shit out of her. Old Joyce could've predicted every single one of his next words or movements. Three years changes a person. Three years of torture — God only knows. 

Even in the anxiety-ridden moment, she couldn't help but to be grateful just for his company in the silence. A feeling she had long since forgotten what it had felt like. Just to hear the soft and steady breathing of someone she cared about sitting next to her. Someone she had longed to see more than anybody in the world could ever understand. 

In fact, just the thought of it all pushed her closer to the inevitable breakdown she was bound to have. It was getting better though. She was learning to save her tears for the pillow. She needed to be strong for him, and she was getting increasingly better at that part too. Working every day with people who needed her help; who needed her to be their strength. 

The new Joyce. 

Once again, he had chosen to break the silence for a record-breaking third time. Even before he had spoken with his first breath, she could hear the drop of his tone. "I feel like saying 'thank you' wouldn't even begin to cover it," he choked out, slowly closing his eyes to keep his gaze from crossing paths with hers. 

Her brows knitted together, slightly taken aback by the sentiment in his words. "You don't need to thank me. If anything, I should probably be the one to thank you instead," she replied, huffing out a nearly incredulous-toned breath. 

"For what?"

Eggshells, she repeated in her head. _'Eggshells, Joyce.'_ She blew a breath from between her lips, praying it would cure the ache of her stomach where the splash of adrenaline had begun to burn. "Jesus, Hop." her eyes closed briefly before she reminded herself that she was the one driving. "None of us would even be alive right now if it weren't for you." the tears prickled in her eyes, stinging as she did all she could do to force them to dissipate. 

He paused for a moment, looking back up at her as he started to soak in her words. His mouth opened and closed a few times, digging deeply for the right words to say. Or at least the most correct version of whatever it was he could possibly say to her. "I was ready to die, Joyce." 

Her head nearly whipped off of her shoulders as she shot him an angry glare. "Normally I'd tell you how selfish that sounds, but given the circumstances—" she stopped herself, knowing that he understood exactly where her statement was heading. A warm tear started to fall and drip down her left cheek, yet her voice showed no indication that she was crying.

"I've been ready to die for a long time," he whispered, staring softly at the side of her face. "That doesn't mean I wanted to. It just means that when the time comes, I'll accept it. It's been that way ever since Sara... and my job, and Vietnam." this time it was him forcing a deep breath out. "I was ready to die, but I wasn't ready to hurt the people who... _loved_ _me."_

"Well," she sniffled, wiping away the stray with the sleeve of her jacket. "You're done being ready to die. A long time ago, you told me how badly you wanted a second chance. I know this isn't the second chance you wanted, but it's the one you got. Actually, I think this is more like the fourth chance... but it's a second chance for all of us. Don't throw it away." 

Tough cop voice. She hadn't even meant to use it; it just came out with the same resonance she would hear echoing off the walls of an interrogation room. She hadn't meant to sound so callous and cold, it came as a second instinct. Sometimes, when she actually paid attention to it, it instilled a sense of fear into her. Using force or working up the courage to raise her voice had once usually taken at least five seconds of preparation. She hadn't been the type to step into a troublesome situation or even start one herself. Now, the near draconian essence of her words came to her like a second nature. Starting before she could stop it.

In the few months worth of preparations for the trip to Russia, she had often wondered how she was supposed to handle Hopper's presence. Constantly circling back to the never-ending question of whether or not the eggshells were actually necessary. Would he react better to the classic banter and the pretending notion that nothing had really changed at all? What did he need? That's all she wanted to know. 

Owens had warned her about this. When she had dealt with that very question running over and over in her head, she had turned to him and confided her trust in him. His answer was so simple, she felt like an idiot for not seeing it as black and white as Owens did. "Just listen to him and you'll know what he needs." 

But yet, who really would've thought of that as the solution whilst dealing with such a sensitive subject of a loved one. A person they cared so deeply for, they were petrified to make a wrong move. His actions and words would be enough for her to see what he needed, as long as she could read between the lines. It still didn't feel like it was enough. Maybe it never would. Who knows? Maybe she'll go to her grave while still questioning every move and word and thought and breath. 

There were about 850 ways she could handle this situation with him and none of them spoke to her quite like she had expected them to. How the hell are you supposed to treat someone whose been locked in a cage in Russia for three years? Maybe Barnes & Noble had some sort of handbook on the topic. If only, right?

It irked her how it made her feel to see him in the flesh. Suddenly, she had become nostalgic for the days she had learned to say goodbye to. She had laid that to bed long ago and made peace with it. How could one human being stir it all back to life? God, it was like he had time-traveled back to her. A life from so long ago, a life she barely remembered. Now, she missed it. Not in the normal ways she missed her old life. No. Now, she actively missed it. No longer a longing for the past that had been shoved under the bed and silenced. A life she had so willingly run away from. So much work and progress to live day to day without missing that life. Then, it came back to her. Because when you love something, you're supposed to let it go. If it comes back, it's meant to be. For so long, she had just thought it wasn't meant to be. 

Why did it have to hurt so bad?

Why did the image of him have to stir so much dust? Why did it have to burn?

He didn't deserve that title to his name. The man who made Joyce Byers' ribcage light up in flames from the agony of trauma. The man whose existence alone rehashed old battles and tore healed wounds. 

But just as every thought in her mind did, this one came back to its form of a full circle. Maybe he didn't need to be pitied. Maybe he needed the tough love. Or maybe he just needed room to regrow. Maybe he'd never be the same person again so any efforts on her behalf to change that would be futile. Could she possibly save a man who didn't want to be saved? Or better yet, _couldn't_ be saved?

Maybe just as the old Joyce Byers had died all of those years ago, the old Jim Hopper did too. Even as harsh as it was and how badly she wanted to believe otherwise, maybe his core personality was gone for good. Like Terry Ives after she took a few too many volts to the temples. Just... gone. 

She wasn't prepared for the consequences if that were true. If he was always going to be a shell of the man he was or if some small shred of him was still in there. None of the options were pretty. None were as elementary as that. Any outcome, any option, they all strung pain along with them. Would he need to regrow everything about himself to fit into the physical mold? Or would he desperately try to revive the last growing stem of who he was on the inside? 

Right now, she hated the fact that she looked at him and saw just an empty cave with a barely visible flicker of a candlelight. Probably even more than he hated it too. He had rescued men from POW camps on the soil of Vietnam. He had served countless years as a decorated cop in both New York and Indiana. He saved lives after Brenner's terroristic ways had reigned over Hawkins. Why hadn't that been enough to make up for the fact that he was once a shitty guy who needed to make a sacrifice? Hadn't he sacrificed enough? Why did all of that have to shrivel up and die as he lied in that Russian prison cell?

Through the corner of her eye, she glanced over at him. Every few feet she drove, the lines of street lamps illuminated the contours of his face. She wished with all of her heart's content that she could just rub her eyes and finally recognize the man sitting next to her.

But life was never that simple, and that just wouldn't happen. 

Whoever this man was, he just wasn't the person she remembered him to be. Now, all she could do was get to know him all over again. 


	2. Chapter Two - Honey, I'm Homebound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Passing Phase by Paul Freeman

Once upon a time, grief had been only a memory to her. Grief, it's such a mysterious element to the world. How one day you feel so far away from it, then by the next day it has entirely enveloped you. It's your world, then it isn't. She would always remember the first encounter of grief that she had ever experienced. It set the precedent for her future; of what to expect. The slack jaw that lasts a perfect ten seconds. The hands flying to cover her mouth because she wasn't sure if she was going to scream, laugh, or vomit. The way her lungs felt as if they had been set aflame with an acid accelerant. Every breath and blink would hurt. Every second passing would just grow harder as the weights hit the ground and continued to fall on top of her. She had once heard that grief is much like stubbing your toe in reverse. When you're struck with pain, it fades but it hurts. When you're struck with grief, it's painless at first but then it grows. The pressure on her chest grew heavier as her brain processed the information given to her. Such a painful experience.

Well, her first encounter with grief wasn't exactly the worst of it. More like a preview of what was to come. The sprinkle of water before the clouds couldn't hold the weight of the rain anymore. She was eight years old, ever so curious about the world and everything around her. On the edge of Hawkins, her parents owned a few acres of land. Unabashed curiosity had sent her trailing out into the clearing behind the lines of trees out back of her house. Spring was in full form that day. Somehow, her memory served the image of the yellow dandelions to be much more saturated in color than how she would see them now. The sunlight had flared in her eyes as she continued through the uncut grass, determined to discover a land that would feed her young and impressionable imagination. The color of the bluebells peppered through the vast land of yellows and greens. Instead of finding some secret Atlantis as she had expected, she had instead found a new friend.

The tiniest mewls and meows came from a few feet in front of her in the clearing. As she parted the grass, she found a grey cat lying on a patch of flowers. Her long brunette hair had dropped down and covered her vision as she leaned down to pick the creature up. Her mother would be furious for getting grass stains on her brand new white stockings, but she didn't care. The cat had looked up at that eight-year-old Joyce with a matching curiosity of hers. He didn't recoil or show any fear, just a look that told Joyce that he wanted to go on an adventure with her.

She had managed to carry the little grey cat all the way back to her house. Begrudgingly, her parents had allowed her to keep him. She had kept her end of the deal, feeding him and cleaning his litter box every day. He sat on the edge of her bed every night, watching over her before he purred himself to sleep. She read to him from all of her favorite books and he sat and listened with all of the patience in the world. She loved that cat more than she loved life itself. He kept her company in her lonely world.

Until she awoke one day to find out that Winston was not lying on her bed as he usually would. She had thrown the covers off of herself, turning every item in the hallway over as she called out to him. She could distinctly remember that day to be the day when the cloud of grief had begun growing over her head. As soon as her feet hit the landing, she saw her parents waiting for her in the living room. As soon as they told her that Winston had fallen asleep and never woke up, her lip quivered in a way that she had never recalled recognizing. The kids at school had picked on her for crying over a pet, but for the first time, Joyce had crossed paths with the heartache of the world.

But losing Winston would pale in comparison to the day her closest aunt had passed. Two years had passed and she hadn't experienced any other losses, but she had already been acquainted with the feelings of grief. That was when the cloud above her head had truly made its presence undeniable to her. It followed her everywhere, turning the color of the world into shades of grey. She had recognized the feeling of her lungs sinking into her stomach and her knees going weak. She was meeting death once again, alongside its best friend known as grief. For a week, she had fallen asleep to her eyes spinning around with the ceiling fan. The house was quiet, her room was quiet, the world was just so quiet. Out of everything she felt, the one emotion that had stuck out to her most was the pure amazement of grief. It was like meeting an old friend all over again. How could that be? How could she remember everything she had felt two years previously all over again? The chapped lips from forcibly breathing through her mouth since her sinuses were swollen shut from crying. The stickiness beneath her bottom eyelashes from the dried tears. The complete lack of energy and will to live for a few days.

But it was Will whose experience had completely reincarnated the cloud of grief over her head. The long and drawn out days where she wondered if her baby was dead or alive. Almost 30 years later, she still knew grief. They were still the best of friends. Sliding right back into their old ways together as if no time at all had passed. Every ounce of grief from the past had remained alive and well inside of her, all it had done was stay quiet. Grief is a universal language; one that doesn't need to be relearned after a long period without it. It's human nature; you just know.

Sometimes, when the nights were long and un-ending, she thought of all the questions she would ask grief if she could. Why her? Or better yet, how did grief know her better than she knew herself? Where inside of her were these feelings living, dwelling, waiting to come alive again? How could it be possible that thirty years later, grief hadn't changed? It hadn't adapted or evolved. It was still just the same as it always had been. Slack jaw, heart stop, voice fails, tears fall, defiances cried, pain grows. Nothing had changed. The roses would hit the top of the casket and her heart would continue to break.

Then there was Bob. Anger had remained the strongest phase of grief that time around. It was Bob's death that had taught her about the stages of grief— and how they weren't really stages at all. They were points of time, bouncing back and forth to one another, all moving in unspecific directions. One moment was anger, the next was sadness, shock, and back again. The swollen eyes had felt just as familiar as they had eleven months previous. Once again, proving her belief that grief never actually goes away. The cloud got heavier, following her further. She could drive for miles and never be able to outrun it. As much as she hated death, it continued to fascinate her throughout the years. The universe had left her raw and wounded, leaving her to fear everything new and out of the ordinary. When the universe leaves you vulnerable, the trust you had placed in it leaves. Nothing is safe. Nothing is off-limits. Just like that, the safety blanket is gone.

Hopper's story would always be different. She grieved so hard that she was close to certain that her ribcage would be ready to bust. The cloud of grief had become a fully formed hurricane. It hurt to breathe, to cry, to move and think and blink and everything else. To physically force herself to move her limbs and clean the remnants of his cabin only a few days after saying what she thought was her final goodbye to him. Bob's death had made her angry, but Hopper's had changed her. Anger couldn't describe it. As If every grief-related emotion had just burst into a supernova and left her feeling only numb. She was held prisoner by her own emotions, shackled into the body that forced her to get out of bed every morning and to just keep going. Each time she had laid her head to rest in a bout of insomnia, her prayers had always circled around to the prayer that the cloud would leave. That the tears would dry and grief would only be a memory for the rest of her time.

But now the dead man was in front of her, and for reasons unbeknownst to her, she was still grieving. She was still mourning his loss and he wasn't even gone. Grief is fascinating, but it's oh so tricky. Just because it's unnecessary for it to stick around, it never leaves that easily. Like a leech, it found other parts of life to attach itself too. Rather than grieving him, she grieved their lost time. She grieved for his pain. She was fucking exhausted from grieving.

The idea of death had always terrified her. The thought of missing someone and not being able to reach out for them, it made her gut twist and turn into unbreakable knots. Knowing that a million miles traveled wouldn't make a difference, that they were just gone. Just the basic idea of feeling so grief-stricken and not able to do the one thing she could do to fix it, there was no greater hell than that. An eternal pain that just came as the price of a life she didn't ask for.

Yet, here she was. She was the anomaly. The one in a million chance that someone could truly be reunited with someone they've lost, right in the same flesh and blood they believed to have left behind. She was living any mourning persons' dream, so why the fuck hadn't the cloud dissipated? Why was her heart still struggling to pound in her chest? She had everything she had ever wanted right now, there had to be a reason why it wasn't good enough. She wasn't looking into the eyes of a ghost, so where was the relief? Where was the breath exhaled that she hadn't realized she had been holding for three years? 

Their once in-sync partnership had now become just two strangers on different wavelengths. 

* * *

The headlights illuminated the white shingles on the house as she pulled the car into the driveway. The sight stirred something strange within her belly. Despite the crippling silence that had usually filled the atmosphere, she truly did feel at home when she saw the familiar front porch. All she could think about was the fact that Hopper didn't have that feeling anymore. She had a home to recognize, he didn't. 

"This is it. Home sweet home," she spoke quietly, shifting the car into park with barely any energy in her body left. Neither of them moved, just watching as the moths fluttered their wings between the lights and the house. Even though her body was physically exhausted, her mind was showing no signs of slowing down for the night. The remainder of the adrenaline still coursed through her veins, just as it had done while she had broken him free from his cell. Maybe the heart palpitations would never stop and she'd be forever stuck between the rush of everything that they had just survived. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, cutting off the sensory overload that ran rampant through her. It was so much easier with Will. As soon as he was back in her arms, the comfort had come rushing back to her. His scent, the sound of his breathing, the soft brown eyes. For the entire time her son had been missing, it felt like years had passed. Once he was home, it was as if no time at all had gone by. 

That's what haunted her so much about Hopper. She could hear his breathing, she could physically see him or reach out and touch him. Yet, she still didn't feel the familiarity of his presence. Everything about him warned her that he was an optical illusion. That all of this was just a figment of her broken imagination. Like a dream. You don't feel pain in dreams. She didn't feel him in real life. It was all just the goddamn reflection of a funhouse mirror. 

She cut the silence by clearing her throat softly. "You uh— you wanna have a drink before settling in?" she offered, carefully pulling the keys out of the ignition. She could see the tiredness in his eyes; how he hadn't bothered to look around and observe the area. If he had, then he probably would've asked her why there was a squad car on the other side of the driveway. 

"Yes," he responded weakly. As soon as the word left his mouth, Joyce practically lept out of the car at full force. She fumbled with her keys as she made it up the porch steps, Hopper following closely behind her. As soon as she had managed to find the right key in the darkness of the night, the front door swung open. Her hand swiped along the wall, still barely able to find the light switch in the dark even after living in that house for years. 

The lights flicked on, revealing the quiet interior of the home that felt as if it hadn't been lived in. She had scrubbed it top to bottom before leaving, making sure it wasn't left a disaster by the kids before it was too late to clean it. It wasn't much, but it was fairly comfortable. At least she hadn't seen a Demogorgon popping out of the wall. There were no scorch marks on the carpets or obviously covered ax holes. It was just... home. 

As a wave of anxiety washed over her, she tried to focus her eyes on the framed photo of her and the kids that hung on the wall. The four of them in the photo, huddled around Joyce with a smile on the day she graduated from the academy. The more time she spent around Hopper, the more she had forgotten just how much older the kids had gotten. El and Will were still just children the last time he had seen them. She couldn't help but fear what his reaction could be when he sees them for the first time. They didn't look like kids anymore. Hell, they were practically almost adults. He had missed out on El growing up, just as he had missed out with Sara. All over again. 

Her eyes squeezed shut as she forced herself to pull it together. "I'll go grab the drinks," she said before she scurried off into the kitchen. Hopper stayed standing in the same spot, staring down at the floorboards as if they had some sort of secret message encoded into them. An answer to the millions of questions he was too tired to ask. For so long, he had only seen the beige concrete walls of his cell. Now, looking around to see the color and decoration of his new home felt like a sin. He didn't want to look. 

Joyce rushed back in holding two cans of his favorite beer. Deep in the back of his mind, something whispered to him that she had remembered on purpose. That it wasn't just a fluke that she had picked up a case off the shelf at the store because the label was appealing, but because she knew he liked that kind. "Do you wanna sit out on the back porch?" she asked cautiously, showing him her bright brown eyes in the light for the first time. 

He stumbled on his thoughts before forcing himself to nod. Everything was so damn confusing and overwhelming, why couldn't he just think? If he still knew anything about the woman in front of him, then he would be right to assume that she was just as nervous and frayed out as he was. 

He followed behind her like a lost puppy as she led them outside. He was quickly becoming reacquainted with the feeling of anxiety. Fearful that if he made the wrong step or said the wrong thing at the wrong time, some sort of punishment might come. His steps were carefully coordinated, almost as if he was trying to make himself smaller to avoid bumping into something or making too much noise. 

The night's breeze was back to blowing against his skin as he shut the porch door behind him. A couple of rocking chairs were sitting on the backside of the wrap around porch, overlooking the land that led to the middle of nowhere. He followed her lead as she sat down in one of the chairs, handing him the cold can of beer. "Where's the dog you were talking about?" he asked, interrupting the sound of chirping cicadas and the croaking of the frogs. 

"Rambo? The neighbors are watching him for me." she punctuated by taking a sip from the can. 

He stared at her in disbelief, nearly laughing as his jaw dropped. "You named your fucking dog 'Rambo'?" 

She giggled quietly from the next chair over, and even though he couldn't see her face in the darkness, he could imagine what her expression was. Her nose was crinkled and her eyebrows were probably lifted as her teeth grazed her bottom lip. He'd lost a lot of memories as time had lagged on, but the image of Joyce laughing had never really left him — as miraculous as that was.

"We call him 'Fatty' too. Or at least the kids do. Usually when he jumps his front paws onto the dinner table to lick off of someone's plate before they can stop him. He acts all big and tough but he's actually a big dopey teddy bear." she smiled, her thumbnails clicking together as she tried to hide her laughter. The dog made her feel safe. She might be a cop who slept with her gun on the nightstand, but having that extra layer of protection made the nights a little easier. The damn thing reminded her so much of Hopper when she had first met him at the pound, she just couldn't deny taking him home forever.

"Any other new surprises I should know about? Did you get a cat too?" he asked, cracking open the top of the can. His eyes started adjusting to the darkness, seeing the outline of the small smile on her face. 

"No, no cats..." she stopped, submitting to the bashful grin that took over her lips. Her eyes dropped to the floor of the porch, inspecting the lines in the wood panels. "I did, however, get my badge." She let the words sit with him for a moment before looking up to see his semi-shocked expression. She waited for the other shoe to drop; a feeling she had become familiar with. The eight million potential ways the conversation could curve into something negative. But he just sat there, raised his brows and nodded. 

"Detective Byers. It did always have a nice ring to it. Congratulations." 

"Thanks," she murmured, tracing her finger along the rim of the beer can. "Didn't start off as a detective though, obviously. I had to work my way up from a beat cop first. Luckily, I caught that promotion a little earlier than I expected to when I noticed a few details in a case that the others missed. The D.A. said they probably wouldn't have nailed the bastard if I hadn't found what they were looking for. My Captain was nice enough to put in a good word for me with the Brass and I ranked up." a smile was brought to her face as soon as she remembered the memory. Half of the squad was chock full of misogynistic assholes who would spend most of their time debating on whether or not to grab her ass or grab another donut. It took a while, but as soon as they realized that she had become better at her job in a year than they had in ten, they wised up. 

The silence had reabsorbed the air between them, pillars of time and change crashing down to separate them. Wavelengths, those goddamn wavelengths. She could hear him thinking too loudly. Hell, she could probably predict each of the questions running through his head. Mentally prepping himself for the answers, the good, the bad, and the ugly. He was afraid to ask, she could tell. Maybe he was afraid of seeing everything that he'd missed. 

She wanted to wait. To let him regain control of his choices and lead his own way. Some of his questions would eventually answer themselves. It would take time, just like everything did. Time this, time that. Time was going by so quickly. Everything was constantly put on hold, pausing to save the world from certain doom and resuming afterward. The more they had to pause daily life, the quicker the time ran out. Before they would even be able to blink, they'd be sitting in the same rocking chairs at eighty years old, remembering everything they had missed by putting time on hold. 

"Where's El?" he asked with a thick layer of apprehension in his voice. She could hear his self-disdain following the fear of opening a whole new can of worms. He was overwhelmed, scared that he'd hurdle himself into another overwhelming situation before he could get over the last one. 

"She's fine," Joyce rushed to say before eyeing him carefully. "She's been spending a few days at a friend's house. I wasn't sure when we'd get back here so I didn't want to bring the kids home until the morning." Well, it wasn't a total lie. It just wasn't exactly the entire truth. El had been staying with a friend, yes. And the kids weren't home because she knew it would be late when they got back, yes. But deep down, she was scared that everything would happen too fast for him. One day in a prison cell, the next at the dinner table as a family of five. She wanted to protect El and Hopper both, but her gut told her that time needed to be planned carefully. She knew he probably wouldn't understand, and maybe it was selfish of her to keep their daughter from him for a second longer. But she also knew how important it was to take caution with reintegration. That just meant it had to be more painful... for _everyone. _

He stayed silent, just like she expected him to. Clearly he wouldn't just begin to pour out his entire heart and soul after what he had been through. She was silly for letting herself hold onto a sliver of hope that said otherwise. He would retain his words, keep his thoughts to himself. She had seen this before, not just with El but with kids at the precinct. Abused children who keep themselves locked up tightly because that was all they had left; themselves. 

Maybe it was wrong of her to view him as a victim. Obviously, he was a victim, but would seeing him as one do him more harm? She reflected back to Owens' words, telling her to allow Hopper to show her what he needed, rather than for her to assume. But it was hard with Hopper. The man was once made of steel, so damn invincible that she was certain he wasn't even human. But he is... at least he _was._ Now, she didn't know what he was. He was vulnerable as hell even when he tried not to show it. It killed her to sit next to only the shell of the man she used to know the insides and outs of. 

She wanted that man back. He probably did too. 

* * *

"I uh... I got you some pajamas and stuff. Some basic clothes and stuff until we can go shopping and get the rest of what you need," she was hovering nervously in the guest room that she had spent hours arranging. The salvaged items from the cabin had been set up in the room as well. Photos of Sara and some of his old blankets. She knew she was probably overthinking all of it. At the core, Hopper didn't need much. He had always been self-sustainable and minimalistic in a way. Yet, as she had set the room up a few weeks before, she had felt the instinct to coddle him. Maybe making him more comfortable would help him readjust — or maybe it would make him feel even more out of sorts. It was Hopper, he wasn't always as predictable as she liked to think he was. 

"Thank you," he nodded, his words forced and breathless. Getting another view of him in the light sent shivers running down her spine. Every five seconds she had to force herself to remember that it was actually him, not just a hauntingly similar ghost. She tried to focus on the parts of him that she still recognized. His eyes still sparkled with the lightest shade of blue she had ever seen. His hair was still taupe, just with a few more greys mixed in. His beard was a little longer than she remembered, but she wouldn't be surprised if he cut half of it off tomorrow. 

Her eyes traveled alongside him as he walked over to a photo on the dresser. Sara, one of the photos she had saved while cleaning the cabin out. She watched his fingers run along the coarse wood frame. Even with his back turned to her, she could sense the slightest tug at his lips as he inspected the photo. "My girl," he whispered almost inaudibly. 

Her eyes clamped shut, forcing away the sudden wave of nausea. So many things she hadn't thought of, like how he hadn't seen a photo of his daughter in three years. Those things hit her the hardest. Every little detail of his old life that he had been deprived of. How the hell did this man survive?

She felt the threat of tears beginning to well in her eyes. Her body was panicking before her mind had time to process what was happening. She only had a few seconds to pull herself together before he would spin around and see her on the verge of breaking. _'Cop mode, Joyce. Cop mode. Don't fucking cry,'_ she chastised herself internally, using all of her strength to suck it the fuck up and save it for her pillow. 

She was failing.

He gingerly set the photo back down on its surface, turning to give her a soft and thankful smile. "I really appreciate all of this," he said into the quietness. She nodded as she returned the small smile back to him. 

"It's no problem," she breathed, still trying to keep herself composed. "I'll leave you to get changed and settle in," just barely after the words were out, she rushed out of the room and down the hall. With each step of her feet padding against the carpet, she felt herself struggling harder and harder to breathe. 

Within seconds, she was locked in her bedroom with her back to the door as her legs threatened to give out from beneath her. Her eyes repeatedly opened and squeezed shut as she focused on breathing evenly. Without even trying to stop herself, tears had started to spill down her cheeks. She brought her arm over her mouth, biting down on her forearm to stifle the sobs and fast inhales. 

The cold wood of the door soothed the burning of her cheeks as she pressed her face against it. She had at least hoped that the inevitable breakdown would come after he was settled in for the night. Her timing had been miscalculated, and she had pushed herself too far. Hopefully, he would remain oblivious to her emotions and spare her the guilt she would feel if he saw how this affected her. Maybe the fact that he seemed completely numb was a good thing. He'd be too distracted with the lack of feeling anything to notice her feeling everything. She didn't want him to see her fall apart. 

She had gone so long without falling apart like this. 

She would never want to blame him for her sudden onset of emotions. He knew her as her emotional self — which wasn't her at all anymore. He may recognize her this way, but it wasn't how she recognized herself anymore. Having him around, seeing him alive and breathing, it just stirred everything up. The surface where the dust had settled was pulled out from beneath her, leaving the cloud of ashes to drown her lungs out. 

As she tried to fight the tears with more strength, she simultaneously fought the urge to fall to her knees. For her back to so easily slide down the door and lay her down on the floor; keeping her grounded. She wanted to feel grounded again, but he needed her to be up in the air with him. He needed her to survive so she could lead the way for him. She may not have experienced his side of the battle, but she was the closest person who knew how to get through the turmoil. 

Joyce was good at surviving; it was just what she did. Nobody actually saw what comes along with that. the way she would need to force herself out of bed every single morning and do menial tasks just to keep fucking going. The universe had branded her as a survivor at birth, laying out her path in front of her while knowing the obstacles she would need to overcome. That was the only life she had ever known. Now, it was Hopper's turn. 

He was a survivor too, no doubt. How the hell he was still kicking was beyond her. But each time, the magnitude of what he needed to survive grew stronger. Her kids relied on her to survive, but she had never been in a situation where Hopper had relied on her to survive. Not like this. 

He needed her. That scared her. 

She laid with her face pressed against the door until the tears had ceased and her breathing evened out. The emotions dulled and the blissful numbness had found its way back to her, filling her up from head to toe. She focused on the rising and falling of her chest, the sound of her breaths reverberating in her ears. The coarse material of her sweater sleeve was rubbed harshly against her eyes, cleaning up any evidence that she had momentarily lost her composure. 

Slowly, the place that held her emotions was replaced with her training. Detachment, survival mode, empty thoughts. She pushed herself off of the door, stumbling over to her dresser to pull out a pair of pajamas. Her entire body ached from the week's worth of running and dodging and fighting. Although she wanted to believe that she would finally be getting a good night's sleep, she knew it was probably too good to be true. Instead of instant relaxation knowing that Hopper was home safely, she would spend the night worrying herself to death over him. That was just a given; a piece of her personality that the academy hadn't been able to rid her of. The old Joyce would always be in her somewhere, lingering until the right moment came along. 

She slipped into the red flannel bottoms and her favorite Illinois P.D. t-shirt. Her grown out hair was tied up into a careless ponytail, auburn strands falling to frame her face. Her eyelids burned as she fought to keep them open long enough to make sure that Hopper was settling in alright. Would he sleep okay? Would he fight off nightmares all throughout the night? Would he even sleep at all? 

She was preparing herself for the same reaction she had seen in victims. Her new home was bigger. Missing lawn gnomes were the last of the police's concerns where she was now. She had dealt hands-on with people who had been through horrible things, seen horrible things. She had lived it alongside them — which meant that she knew what was to come with Hopper. It would be ignorant to expect everything to slide so easily back into sync. He would still suffer, he would still have trauma to deal with. As much as she wanted to, Joyce knew that she couldn't just make it go away. She had to prepare, to expect everything and nothing. 

Quietly, she tip-toed out of her room and listened near Hopper's door. There wasn't much movement from the other side of the wall. Just as she had raised her hand to knock on the door, she had stopped herself. That could startle him; she didn't want that. "Hey, Hop?" she asked, her voice starting quietly to keep from alarming him. "You okay in there?"

A beat passed without a response. Just as she was ready to call for him again, the handle twisted and the door slowly opened. "I'm okay," he answered, his voice softer than she had ever heard it before. Even in his calm demeanor, she could still see the fear that lived behind his eyes. 

"Okay," she whispered, nodding as her eyes shifted to the floor. "Can I get you anything? A glass of water or a snack or something?" she asked, her eyes coming back up to meet his. 

He flashed her a forced smile, one that she realized hadn't quite reached his eyes. The forced smiles never do. "I'm all set..." he replied. She could hear the hesitation in his voice. He was working up the courage to say something else, she could feel it in her bones. Slowly, the sincerity of his smile started to climb, shedding itself of the obvious look of forcefulness. "Thank you... for everything." 

Even with the gratefulness in his voice, she swore she could see him fighting back tears. She wanted to believe that they were happy tears, but that was far out of reach, even for her. She carefully smiled back at him, ignoring the cracking of her heart when she saw through his failing façade. He was in pain. He wasn't a shell of a man whose soul had been scooped out; he was still in there, hurting. 

It was coming, the great big crack where he would fall and break just the same as she had caught herself doing in the next room over. He was strong, but not that strong. Not strong enough to ward off the pain from the amount of trauma he had survived. He would crumble, eventually, and eventually didn't seem too far away. How much could a man of his caliber take? Maybe more than the average person, but he was still human. Humans always had breaking points, and the world had done a pretty good job of nearly pushing him over the edge. 

His eyes had become glassy. The same clear shimmering reflection she had seen that night on the platform, his way of saying goodbye. The soft smile, the one he hated showing but knew how deeply she would feel it. He was grateful, but he was hurting. Hopper had never been a man with great communication skills, so his eyes did most of the talking. At least, that's how she remembered him.

Standing in the doorway, she saw a new shade of him. He wasn't near death, he wasn't surviving doomsday and preparing his goodbye. He was just existing, but existing in the same amount of pain he had on July 4th. Conveying emotions that he only showed during times of great peril, but conveying them in a moment of peace. He was allowing himself to be vulnerable in a moment that wasn't going to end in certain tragedy. A moment where he would need to face the next one and the next one after that, no running away from the fact that he was showing true colors. No escape route, no sacrifice. He was never the type of man who would allow himself to show emotions he would later be confronted with. It was always the last-minute flash of vulnerability with no time to face it afterward. 

But this time, he was using his eyes to speak where words would fail. 

"You don't wanna be alone, do you?" she asked, leaning her head against the wooden door frame as she bit at her lower lip. 

Before she knew it, his glassy eyes transformed into full-blown tears, the dam breaking and the emotions flowing through him at such a speed she had never witnessed before. Instantly, he caved forward and his head landed against her shoulder. While he gripped her through his wordless sobs, she clutched him tighter to her body, stroking the back of his neck as she hushed him in calming whispers. 

"I'm right here," 


	3. Chapter Three - Who I've Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Killer + The Sound by Phoebe Bridgers, Noah Gundersen, and Abby Gundersen

The wind rattled against the window panes, disrupting the silence that the night had cast over them. From the right side of the guest bed, Joyce stared at the blank and boring ceiling. With her head tilted back against the pillow, she tried to imagine that the ceiling was the sky instead. That the plaster had been removed and now all that was above was just the stars and the moon, each shining through the navy blue sky. Maybe if she lifted her arm, she could reach out and grab one of those stars. 

But she couldn't. Not because they weren't real, but because Hopper's hand was interlaced with her own. That, she wouldn't change for any of the stars in the sky. To let her fingers fall from his to reach for something that wasn't there, it would be foolish. 

Oh, how that was true in more than one way. 

The man holding her hand was broken. He was traumatized and scared, a victim of the world's cruelties. She wanted the old Hopper back, of course, but that would mean reaching out for someone who didn't exist anymore. Letting go of the hand that she had to reach for one that would fade away. The fact that she had him at all was better than nothing. 

He had shown her his tears. He had allowed his vulnerabilities to drop away from the vest that he held them closest to. When she had last seen him cry, it was for an entire world of different reasons. He had cried for her and El and his life. He had cried tears of sadness whilst saying goodbye and cried tears of joy that he would be reunited with Sara. He had worn those tears with a smile, one last sliver of his strength breaking through. 

These tears came without strength. Broken pieces of himself shedding through his eyes. They came with little hope and more despair than he could physically hold in the shell of what was left. The shell had cracked and the tears had fallen. A wound that only time could heal; that was if it could even be healed at all. 

As soon as his calloused palm had met her own, she couldn't imagine ever letting go. Just the simple feeling of his skin on hers, a sensation she had once taken for granted. It seemed as if everything she took for granted had eventually left her, leaving her behind to pray for its return. 

She wasn't letting go this time. 

Her head rolled against her pillow, turning to catch a glimpse of his face. She was surprised to see that he was still awake. His eyes were red and swollen, but still open just enough to see. He wasn't looking at anything, not really. Instead, his gaze was blank and empty, attached to whatever was first in his field of vision. 

It felt foreign, really; to feel him breathing. To see the evenly rising and falling of his chest. A dead man living. She was face to face with the man who she had once laid a rose upon a pine box of. The man she had pulled that old black dress out for. Not to waltz into Enzo's for their beginning, but to drag her feet into the funeral for his ending. But it was just a box. An empty box with ashes scraped into it, hoping that they had at least gathered just a small piece of him. Nobody had realized that there wasn't any of him to gather. 

He was right there, virtually untouched. Right there, with old scars from the battlefields that had healed. Scars from his last day in Hawkins that were now faded. New wounds that would soon form into scars. Yet, untouched in the sense that he was still breathing. He may not be whole, but his heart refused to stop beating. 

Even in a time where he wasn't the man he used to be, she marveled at his strength. Once upon a time, lifetimes ago, he had told her how badly he wished for a second chance. Although he had meant with Sara, he had been given a second chance for himself instead. _Given,_ not forced. No matter how he saw it, Joyce saw it as him choosing to live. Him choosing to continue to breathe and survive. Because that's what he was and always would be; a survivor. If that strength wasn't something to be marveled at, then she wasn't sure what would be. 

Where the side of his face rested, she could see the tears pooling against the crimson pillowcase, right beneath his exhausted and heavy eyes. Soft, unforced tears that simply shed at their own volition. The kind of lukewarm tears that beaded up and stained the trail of skin behind them, falling so easily, one by one. No sobs or heaves. Just the evidence of a quiet sadness. A tired sadness. 

This man didn't want to survive, yet he continued to weather every storm. He was no messiah, he wasn't a God amongst mere mortals. He was a man who said hurtful things, made questionable decisions, jumped the gun and went off half-cocked more often than most. The delicacy of his humanity was what stood out most to her. The things he saw did not make him a hero, he was not rid of imperfections. He was James Hopper, a man whom she wished she didn't feel so strongly for, but still, a man who had and always would take up a permanent residence in the bottom of her heart. Or, at least somewhere in her heart. 

She would need to come to terms with the fact that it was up to him what he decided to do with the reflection he saw in the mirror. To decide whether or not his pain was worth trying to heal or if he would throw away the chance he was handed. She couldn't make that choice for him, no matter how badly she wished she could. If it were up to her, she would unload the burdens off of his back and carry them herself. He would never allow that, even if it was possible. If any part of him was still left in there, he would remember all of the things she had survived herself. Her own storms that she had weathered. But that was just who she was in the core of her person; someone who desperately wished she could carry another person's damage if it meant freeing them from their pain. A leftover product of her empathy; never wishing a pain similar to her own on her worst enemy, let alone someone she cared about. 

Lately, she had been sleeping with one eye open. When she had pulled the keys which had inevitably been her finger on the trigger that killed him, she thought it was over. It was finally over because every sign had pointed to that. She had sacrificed enough that she finally felt as if the world could be satisfied with her amount of loss. Will was traumatized, El was powerless, Bob was dead, and then so was Hopper. But within all of that, the gate had closed and there was no reason for any of it to return. She had nothing left to give.

The people closest to her believed that she had left Hawkins out of fear. But no, they were wrong. There was nothing left to fear since they had shed the necessary blood on the battlefield and curved the universe's thirst for tragedy. She left because of the pain. The scars from the wounds where the blood had fallen. 

But then Murray had explained his theory, and her nights were no longer settled. Not that they really were in the first place. Illinois was better, but it hadn't sealed all of her fears. Once she had realized that Hopper was still alive, she was re-awoken to the cruelty of the world. It never left her. It had punished her instead. Three years of him in that cell would be sitting on her conscience for the rest of her life. It felt like the final punch in the face from fate; the universe's final crime against them. Until she realized that his living existence had retracted a bloodshed sacrifice. If he was not gone entirely, just in captivity, would that mean the universe would make another attempt on their lives with one true and final stab? What if the universe actually hadn't been satisfied? Was it a taunt? A promise made with fingers crossed behind its back? His death was just a sick deception; every grief-filled moment turned to a moment where she hadn't done all she could do to save him. A double-edged sword. He had been alive this whole time and she hadn't saved him fast enough, but the fact that she could save him at all meant she still had more to lose. 

After seeing the living and breathing proof of his existence, the fear had changed. It was evolving, morphing into whatever shape would scare her next. Because that was what this life was about; which boggart was best to keep her on her toes. She couldn't sink into her bed with the relief knowing he was actually alive. Instead, it was the rebirth of fears that she thought she had put to bed. At any moment, the world could take him away again. As long as air continued to fill their lungs, they would never be safe. 

She was stronger than she once was though. That wouldn't make it any easier, but with her gun holstered to her hip for the majority of the time, she wasn't so afraid. Not in the physical sense at least. She could use herself as a shield, holding her piece in a soundly positioned hand as she fired a bullet into the shadows that were coming for him. 

She was the tough one now. Time had slipped and the tables had turned without her even realizing it. 

She was the strong one. She would be the one holding him up.

She was afraid of startling him. The old Joyce, the one she had left behind, her signature move was to tip-toe around everything. Three years changed a person; it changed the way they walked and talked and thought. She wasn't blanketed by her anxiety as much as she once was, and thus her footsteps on the world had become louder. 

But to see him like this, she could feel herself recoiling and reabsorbing her old ways. Each movement had to be careful, precisely planned and delicate. He would never admit that he needed delicacy, but she knew what isolation did to a person. She knew that he would shutter and flinch at the tiniest things. She knew the strike of lightning on a stormy night would tense his body and blow his pupils. 

He would need to adapt, just as she had done. 

So, when her free hand gently lifted to brush a stray hair out of his eyes, she carefully calculated the exact movements of every cell that made up her arm. Slowly, carefully, gently. The little things that she knew he would need. How his eyes would see her hand lifting before she touched him, warning him of the contact. How the finger that brushed the hair out of his face kept perfectly controlled speed and steadiness. He needed constants; unwavering and predictable constants. 

She wanted to remember this moment, but the relief she felt from seeing his face was so potent that she was certain the memory would blur together. Just as the memories of Russia would. Her mind would fade them out; copy, cut, and paste them until they weren't accurate anymore. 

As her hand slowly came back down to her hip, she saw as he looked at her through hooded eyes. The blue meeting the brown for the first time since his rescue. He was gazing at her on purpose this time. Every other time, his eyes had only accidentally met hers before they swept back down to focus on something else. He hadn't been able to look at her for fear of seeing everything he had missed. Every line on her face that he hadn't been there to see form. 

But this time, his eyes bore directly into hers. No fight for dominance, no search for a missing piece. Just... watching. Watching as her copper-toned eyelashes gently batted against her cheeks before they rose and opened once again. He was trying to combat the urge to look away once again, to detach himself from her and retreat back into his cold and lonely mind. 

Her breath hitched in her throat, beginning to speak before she had even formulated the words in her head. "I _need_ you... to survive this," she whispered slowly, watching as the statement settled into his mind. His lower lip flickered, gently bumping into his top lip before his mouth closed completely. 

Joyce Byers didn't need anything; not usually. She needed her kids and that was it. But her words came as a surprise even to herself. Maybe it was because she hadn't realized she was going to say them at all, or maybe it was because of how true the statement was. Could he see the change in her? How she no longer needed assistance from the world? If he did, then he would truly understand how foreign the words felt. _'I need'_ was not a common phrase from her anymore. But the more she thought about it, the more she had realized just how much would be riding on this. On _him._ If he didn't pull through this... she couldn't think about the possibilities. It could break her and everything she had built herself to be. 

The nervous shift in his eyes was the cue that he was considering those possibilities as well. The only difference was that he was not familiar with the Joyce that laid beside him. He knew she was strong, but this strength was different. The strength she had now was a strength that she had earned, not from the ability to keep standing up after the world had pushed her down. This strength came from a choice she had made, not the inevitable. She chose the growth that she was wearing, and it wasn't just a byproduct of what the world had subjected her to. 

Her words had managed to leave him speechless, but it wasn't like he was doing much talking anyway. Through the shock and awe of her pleading statement, he managed to give her a soft nod. Not much of a promise that he would, in fact, survive; rather an acknowledgment that he had heard what she was asking of him. 

She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly. His lips twitched as if he was trying to work up the courage to speak. His eyes fell a few centimeters away from hers, breaking the iron clad contact between them. "Tell me about the case," his voice was raw, gravelly even. A tone she had only heard him speak in a few times. He was begging for a distraction, something that they both could understand and relate to in a world where they didn't even understand each other anymore. 

"What case?" she asked softly, her brows knitting together in confusion. 

His eyes closed and she swore she could feel him tighten his grip on her hand. "The uh— the case you mentioned that got you the promotion to detective. You said that there were a few pieces of evidence that the rest of them had missed. Tell me about the case."

She paused, trying to figure out if it was in his best interest to talk about something as stressful as a case right now. Did he really need to know the harsh and gut-wrenching details? But something in the back of her mind told her to do it. Maybe he needed it; something that was once his life to come back to him for even just a moment. 

"I uh — I was just coming off a fifteen-hour tour around the east side when I stopped back at the station house to work on my 5's and get the rest of my stuff. My Captain, he's a good guy, took me under his wing. Knows a little about the situation from back in Hawkins – or at least the public version. He calls me into his office and says that they were still working on this really nasty case we had caught. Kidnapped little girl, about six years old." she stops, paying close attention to his face to gauge his reactions. 

"They had a suspect in mind. Actually, they were dead-certain it was him but he was in the wind. My Captain asks me if I could stay back for a little longer and work the tip-line. I said _'Sure, why not? What's a little overtime?'_. Y'know, I knew the kids were out doing their own things and... I really didn't want to go home to an empty house. So, before I go, I asked him about the suspect. Mark Weston. He's a registered sex offender, a recent parolee. Just a real fuckin' bad guy," she chuckled dryly, wincing at the memory. 

"Cap' says the guy's mom alibied him for the time the girl disappeared, but apparently the lead detectives on the case couldn't find anyone who could corroborate her statement either. 'Said she was just as shady as her kid. I guess they kinda hit a dead end even after they questioned her. She wasn't budging, swears her son is innocent and was wrongly convicted. So, I go and work the tip-line for a little bit. You know how it is, every psychic on the east coast calling to say they'll lead us right to the girl's dead body for a small fee and that they've got a two for one special going on and if we don't act fast, they'll never find her. A lot of the calls were bogus. But uh... I took a call and the woman on the other end says she swore she's seen Weston driving to the gas station with the girl in some dumpy station wagon a day or two earlier and didn't realize it was the kidnapped girl until she saw the news... I almost didn't believe her." she stopped again, taking a deep breath as she shook her head. 

She looked back down at Hopper who was paying her the closest attention she had seen from him yet. His eyes blown wide, almost like he was finding some sort of lifeline in her story. 

"I tell the other detectives and they brush it off because Weston didn't own a station wagon. But my gut told me to check it out. So I did. I pulled the DMV records, and there wasn't a station wagon registered to Weston himself, but one was registered to his mother. Same make and model as the woman said on the phone. I asked the guys why they didn't check before and they said they didn't have any reason to. It wasn't much to go on at first, but it was enough to update the APB we had out." 

Hopper cut in, almost enthusiastically. "What happened next?" 

God, was she really reciting a case as a bedtime story for him? 

"I dug a little deeper into the file and something caught my eye. The car wasn't registered to the same address where they had gone to talk to the mother. Someone thought maybe she had just moved and her DMV file wasn't updated, just Weston's parole file. The car was registered to a different address, one that was a few hours away. Nobody believed me when I said he was probably heading to the address where is car was registered. They kept going on with the theory that the Westons had sold the place and moved to where their current address was."

"But you weren't buying it," he said with the smallest twinkle of light and pride in his eyes.

"Not even for a second." she grinned. "I don't blame them though, I was basically a human traffic cone who was overstepping my boundaries. But my Captain... he believed me. It was the best lead they had and we were running on 48 hours of this girl being gone. Time was ticking. I knew my ass would be on the chopping block if they sent the detectives all the way out to the middle of nowhere just for it to be a dead lead, so I did the math. While everyone was walking around the bullpen with their heads up their asses, I got the numbers of all of the gas stations from here to there. I knew that car of his would be a guzzler, so he'd have to stop somewhere on his way. I called one of the gas stations about halfway from here to the address from the mother's DMV file and the guy on the other line says _'Brown station wagon? Yeah, the guy just left and he's headed south. He bought kid's toy on his way out but I thought it was weird because he didn't have a kid with him,'_ and I just knew. Since nobody else believed me, I grabbed my partner and hit the road." 

"You find the girl?" 

"Yeah... A rundown property on the outskirts and there he was, right in the driveway with that dumpy ass car and a look in his eye like he thought for a second he was actually gonna get away with it. We'd made it just in time to catch him there. He was fishing the little girl out of his trunk as we reached the scene. She was fine; drugged, but ultimately she was okay. The Captain said that if I had ignored that tip just like the other detectives had ignored what I said, she probably would've died, even though I hadn't been authorized to go after Weston. At the end of the day, it didn't matter because she was safe and alive. After that, people started taking me a little more seriously and my Captain helped me get my promotion."

She could feel the waves of blue in his eyes as he stared at her. If she turned her head, she could've seen the microscopic smile that tugged at his lips; a smile filled with more pride than she could've ever imagined. She suddenly felt bashful under his intense gaze, becoming reacquainted with the feeling of being so small next to him.

She wasn't the same woman he had left behind. Not by a longshot. But _goddamn_ was he proud of who she had become. 

His eyes dropped as soon as hers did, but the hidden smile that he wore refused to fade "Always knew you'd make a good cop." he whispered, his chest filling with warmth as he heard the soft snort come from under her breath. 

In the midst of his overwhelming pride, a wave of despair still managed to crash over him. She had grown so much without him. Back in Hawkins, he had flattered himself with the idea that he had been responsible for helping her grow. Maybe it wasn't a complete fallacy, but it had been the heart of his ego speaking. She was stronger than anyone he had ever met, with or without him. He had practically survived after '83 with the notion that if it weren't for himself, she would've fallen apart. Hell, it was pretty much his reason to live besides El. Joyce had needed him — or, at least he had thought so. 

But she was proving him wrong with every passing second. She was inconceivably strong and resilient. It wasn't because of him or her kids, it was because that was just who she was. Someone who picked up the pieces of her repeatedly broken life and just kept fixing it. Nobody else was responsible for her healing or for her growth.

Thus leaving him with the question of purpose. Joyce needed him to survive this, but she didn't need _him. _El, well he hadn't seen her in three years. She had Joyce and her brothers now, she probably didn't really need him either. 

But for Hopper, his way of survival was the need to be needed. Losing Sara had proven that in spades. Of course, he hadn't realized yet just how much Joyce needed him in her life. She was getting better and relying on only herself, but she was even better at pretending to be okay without anyone. 

* * *

Neither of them had realized they had drifted into a deep sleep until they had woken up the next morning. They had woken up in the same position they had fallen asleep in; hands holding, facing each other, foreheads just barely apart from one another. Joyce wanted to roll around and let the sun shining through the windows soak into her skin, but a persistent nagging voice in her head told her that she needed to wake up. 

That was when she had glanced at the alarm clock that sat on the bedside table of the guest room. The bright red letters alerted her that it was nearly noon, and she instantly panicked. El and Will were coming home soon from their friends' houses and nothing was ready. She had meant to talk to Hopper about it, to warn him and talk to him about the plan she had set up. 

El would always be Hopper's daughter, but she was also Joyce's daughter. She had mothered the girl for over three years, legally adopting her after two years had passed. She wanted what was in El's best interests just as much as Hopper's too. Her gut told her that meant that it would be best if they eased into this. There wasn't really a hand guide on how to reintegrate a father who'd been held hostage in Russia into his daughter's life again. So, she was winging it the best she possibly could. 

In the midst of violently scrubbing the countertops to relieve anxiety, she watched as Hopper nervously glanced around the living room. Everything to him was foreign now — it was hard for her to wrap her head around that. This had been her life for so long now, it all came so easy to her. But for him, it was just as foreign as being trapped in Russia. No familiarity, no comfort zone. Nothing. Just photos of his only family hanging on the wall, aged three years since the last time he had seen them. 

She watched as he inspected the same photo she had kept her eyes glued to the night previous. The kids and her after she graduated from the academy. Even from the kitchen, she could instantly spot the emptiness within his eyes. He had missed out on watching both of his daughters growing up. He had thought about that for the 1095 days he had spent staring at the cement walls of his cell. 

"Hop?" she asked, letting up from her rageful scrubbing of the kitchen countertops. "Are you okay?" He had been stationary, staring at the same photo until she had lost track of time. What hadn't he missed? 

He nodded softly at her question, stepping away to break his contact from the photograph. "Yeah," he answered with an obvious lie. "Yeah, I'm okay." 

She sighed, setting down the cloth she held in her hand and carefully made her way over to him. Each of her footsteps held caution, reminding her of the nights where she carefully waded through dark alleys on foot. Light as a feather, she reminded herself. As soon as she reached him, her hand cautiously rose to rest on his shoulder. "I um... I wanted to talk to you about something," 

He could sense the hesitancy in her voice, her face showing the slightest bit of recoil as she waited for his reaction. "Okay?" he knitted his brows, moving to sit down on her couch as she paced around the living room. 

"Um... I don't want to come off as cold by saying this. I've thought a lot about it, and I think this is the most important way to handle things. El is gonna come home for a little while, but my fear here is that everyone is gonna need some time to uh... readjust." she paused, waiting for the change in his face that never came. "So, El has a tutoring lesson in a few hours and I think it's important for her to go. I don't really want to cancel it because I think it'll be good for you both to spend some time together and then take a little break and we'll all be back here for dinner." 

The words sat with Hopper for a moment, his blank face revealing nothing to indicate how her statement settled within him. It had been so long without having a kid to raise and focus on, his thoughts weren't in the right place to consider his child's wellbeing. He didn't even know his daughter anymore. He didn't know how she reacted to stress or happiness. He didn't know her favorite color or her favorite class to study. 

Joyce did. 

Joyce knew because she had raised El longer than he did. She had spent more time with El than he did. Joyce knew everything about her by now; even the things that Hopper hadn't had the time to know and learn. She was her mom... but he was just an anomaly from the past. 

Before he had any time to think about replying, both of them turned their heads to the sound of the knob creaking on the front door. Hopper rose to his feet, his heart pounding in his ears as he waited to see his daughter come around the corner. 

"Mom? Your car is here, are you home?" El's familiar voice called out into the silence. Hopper's breath hitched in his throat, the adrenaline filling his stomach like a faucet. The sound of keys clattered to the credenza by the door. Just as she made her way through the small entryway, she stopped, her bag dropping to the floor as her jaw fell. 

"Oh my God."


	4. Chapter Four - Out of the Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Who Are You by Aquilo

The collapsing sound of El's backpack hitting the floor, the room had gone so silent that they could've heard a pin drop. Joyce stood, her body language screaming of apprehensiveness as she watched her daughter's eyes sparkle. 

"Oh my god," the teenager breathed, all three of their hearts hammering away beneath their ribcages. Neither of them knew what to say, or if there even was anything to say. Joyce's eyes darted from El to Hopper, seeing his own jaw drop at the image in front of him. She had grown at least four inches taller, her brunette hair nearly reaching her elbows in length. She only looked like a ghost of the girl he had left behind. 

She was just a kid back then. A kid who just kept losing everything she ever knew. 

Was this another loss? The life she had come to know and love in Illinois with Joyce as her mother and with her brothers? Would he just be one big disruption? 

El stood frozen, a shard of glass sparkling in the air for a split second of time. But the broken pieces of glass always fell to the ground eventually, and time would continue moving. Except for this moment. This moment, all that the three of them could do was allow time to wash over them, to pass and go in forms of seconds to minutes and maybe even minutes to hours. But the glass would fall, the other shoe would drop, and reality would need to come back. 

"Hey, kid," he muttered, fighting his fear of eye contact to reassure her that he wasn't a mirage. At any moment, he could slip away again. He had once before, what's to keep it from happening again? The moment so precious, all they wanted to do was guard it. Keep from moving, protecting that sliver of time so he wouldn't fall through the cracks again. Because if anything moved or even breathed the wrong way, it could all just go back to the way it was before. 

El was the first to break through the fear of disrupting what time had provided them with. Better it be her, she always was fiercely brave. Her first steps forward were cautious, her jaw still hanging in disbelief at the sight in front of her. 

"Dad?" the word rung out with an intense shock and passion behind it. Hopper's breath hitched in his throat. She had never called him that before, and for the longest time, he never thought he'd hear that again. A name with such a purpose behind it. A title awarded to only the worthy, although he felt worthy of absolutely nothing anymore. 

Within a second, she threw herself into his arms. Although the impact startled him, he couldn't help but wrap her tightly up in his grip and hold onto her for dear life. His eyes closed as his nose buried into the top of her head, relishing the feeling of a hug he never thought he'd receive again. As he felt her tears begin to dampen his shirt he took in a sharp inhale, fighting off tears of his own. 

He wasn't sure what Joyce had told the kids about her journey to bringing him back to safety. If he still knew anything about Joyce, he would know that she'd likely keep her plans to herself. She wouldn't want to get their hopes up just to leave them grieving once again. Everything had been so touch and go. God only knows what would've happened if she had traveled the 4,840 miles just to find that he had become a lifeless corpse. 

They would've died inside; more so than they had the first time. 

El pulled away with reddened eyes, taking in another glimpse at him. He could see the fight in her eyes; forcing herself to trust that he was not just another dream that would turn to dust. 

She had seen that too many times. Too many nights where she had nearly flown out of bed as the images of her sleep haunted her. So many nights woken up by her own screaming, replaying the image of her father's death that her mind had concocted. She hadn't watched him die, but her dreams had no issue with portraying every possible circumstance of his death. Sometimes, she wondered if that was worse than actually watching him die; to have to pick one of a thousand ways instead of remembering in the absolute certainty of what had happened that night. 

Yet, there he was. The risen dead. He had never died in the first place. Each miserably constructed scenario all just a farce. 

In the moment, Hopper wondered just how much he had truly missed out on. He wondered if she still struggled with her speech or if Joyce had helped her overcome it. He wondered if she was still going steady with Mike or if she had moved on. He had lost out on everything that was supposed to be his second chance as a father. He didn't teach her how to drive or help her study for exams. He didn't get to witness every phase she had gone through that would make her who she was meant to become. 

Cruelty was the universe's specialty. A joke, every moment he had believed he had a second chance at fatherhood had been a big fat joke. Just like Sara, he had missed out on El's life too. 

"I never stopped looking for you," she whispered through the tears that trailed down her cheeks. disappointment and despair took over her expression, her eyes shifting down to the floor. "My batteries... they never recharged. But I still looked for you, every single night. I did everything I could to try for—"

"1187 days," he interrupted, gulping down the lump in his throat that had formed as soon as he had remembered how many days he had counted since July 4th, 1985. One thousand, one hundred and eighty-seven days locked in a cell. He had counted, knowing that on the other side of the world, his kid was counting too... that was if she hadn't given up. 

"Did you see me?" she asked, her eyes widening with shock and what he could remember as a look of hope. What he couldn't see was that she was praying. Praying that somehow, her powers had worked in a way she didn't realize. That she had somehow broken through the barrier and had unknowingly shown herself. 

He tried not to give a response that would break her into smaller pieces than she already was broken. "No, kid..." he looked down, brushing away a strand of caramel-colored hair from her face. "But I felt it. I felt you as you searched for me." 

It wasn't a total lie. Of course, he had yet to have pinpointed an exact moment where he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was searching the void for him. But, there had been moments that left him curious. Moments filled with gut-instincts that she was thinking of him. He wanted to believe it was true, and not just to believe it was some higher power breaking through the invisible walls of time and space to let him know that she was looking. 

He knew in his heart that if she had any inkling that he was alive, she would've depleted herself of every ounce of energy in the search for him. Tissues would've become towels soaked with the crimson dribble beneath her nose. He had seen it with Mike, and although it felt like he was simply flattering himself, he knew it would be the same with himself. 

El was as loyal as could be. It was both her best and her worst trait. So loving that she'd go to the ends of the Earth for you. So loyal that she couldn't tell when to walk away from someone. She would've looked for him until the day she died. 

From the other side of the room, Joyce silently watched their interaction. She hadn't told the kids much about the operation of setting Hopper free. That he had been right about. But over time, they picked up the pieces and begun to understand the details that she held back. The entire week prior to when Joyce had been scheduled to fly out, she could sense the overwhelming anxiety that had plagued her daughter. The fear in her eyes that her mother would come back empty-handed, broken just as much as the day she thought he died. 

She'd never forget El's face as the lights over the mall became enmeshed with the light from the moon and beamed off of the rain that fell with her tears. The hopelessness and helplessness that she had seen. It was hard to believe that all of that pain could exist in such a small human. 

Just from the scene in front of her, she knew it would be painful to pull El away later to make sure she got to her tutoring lesson. She had seen it enough in her line of work. Reuniting and rebuilding came with the pain of also having to reestablish trust. Trust that he would be there when she got back. If she didn't start now, she never would. 

But aside from her worry, she allowed the moment to seep into her heart. To remember every detail right down to where each fleck of dust was located on the floor. Ever since Murray had convinced her that Hopper was alive, she had wondered what it would be like to reunite him with El. Would she back away in confusion? Would she detach from the situation? Would she cling to him and never let go? No matter how she spun the scenario, she would've never been able to dream up the amount of love that filled the room.   
  


* * *

Getting El to her tutoring lesson had been somewhat of a battle. It had taken pulling her aside to thoroughly explain that Hopper would be there when she got back. She had also forced herself to explain that Hopper would need time to readjust to everything, just like she and the kids had done when they had moved. El had reluctantly agreed with her and surrendered to leaving Hopper for a few hours. 

Then there had been the fact that she had papers she needed to pick up from the station. Her captain had offered her some time off, but there were still case files that she needed to look over and paperwork to finish. Thus beginning the worry of leaving Hopper home by himself. She wasn't actually sure what it was that she was so worried about. Despite what her anxiety told her, he wasn't a toddler. He was a grown man who wouldn't burn her house down while she was gone. Still, the thought of leaving him had come along with thoughts of what he would feel if he was alone. What if he panicked while she was away? What if the silence started to eat him alive and he was thrust into the effect of PTSD? 

She had offered to take him for a drive, to show him around their new home. She wasn't quite sure if he understood that they lived on the outskirts of a city, not just a town. Her house was only fifteen minutes or so away from the busiest streets in the area. It couldn't hurt having him become acquainted with the place, could it?

The car ride was all too quiet for her liking, yet she refused to turn on the radio. Hopper did the exact same thing he had done during their first ride home; stare out the window without a peep. She couldn't tell if he was taking in the scenery or trying to imagine that the roads they were driving on led him back to his old life. 

The trees soon turned into buildings as she drove further into the city. From the corner of her eye, she watched the change in his face as soon as he was met with several street lights and solid establishments. It was stirring something within him, that much was apparent. She quickly forced herself to turn her eyes back to the road while he remained lost in the new environment.

"Kinda reminds me of New York. Just smaller," he mumbled, his face barely inches away from the cold glass of the passenger window. With a deep breath puffing out his chest, he readjusted himself so he was facing forward in his seat. "Just a little,"

Joyce fought back the small smile that tugged at her lips. She was glad that those memories still managed to resurface after all this time. That his old life was still alive in him, somewhere. It gave her a little more confidence knowing that his new home was able to remind him of his old home, to bring him some familiarity as comfort. 

Finally, she saw the building that she recognized as her home away from home. She pulled into the tall precinct building's parking lot, flashing her badge at the guard who was managing the security gates. She always found it kind of funny that even when she was driving a squad car, they still asked for badges. Each time, she just rolled her eyes and smiled. 

Her regular parking space was just as empty as the last time she had left it. As soon as she shifted the car into its parked position, she took a moment to assess the situation. She could leave him in the car and worry about him for the ten minutes it would take to get to the 10th floor, grab her work, and get back. Or, she could take him in and show him around whilst worrying it would do him damage by being reminded of his old job. 

"Why don't you come in with me. I'll show you around." her hand moved to his shoulder before she could stop herself and alarm bells immediately went off. She meant to keep her hands to herself, do anything she could not to startle him. But she was surprised when she instantly felt his bicep relax against her touch. The tense and tightness of the muscle just fell right from her fingertips. 

He followed her out of the car, cautiously walking behind her as she made her way to the elevator. She wasn't dressed in her full uniform, but she clipped her badge to her waistband and secured her ID lanyard around her neck during the ride up. He was still so quiet, gently looking around and inspecting the panels on the wall while the numbers rose from the ground floor to floor #10. 

She thought about filling the awkward silence with some sort of talkative preparation for him, but he already knew what it was like to walk into a city precinct and how it differed from small-town Indiana police stations. She wanted to prep him for everything now that she had him back; not just the place she worked or the house she dwelled in. She wanted to protect him and reintroduce him to a life he already knew. 

The 'ding' of the elevator snapped her back and he followed behind her once again. She made her way through the hall and past the double doors that led into the bullpen. The entire room was bustling with energy, alive and well without her presence. She was met with the familiar smell of burnt coffee and typewriter ink. A scent that instantly brought a calm upon her, a reminder that she was safe and sound in a place where she belonged.

"Look who's finally back," she heard the familiar voice of her partner from across the room. The man stepped forward, nursing what was probably his fifth cup of coffee today. "Thought you had a few days left on leave? You comin' back to this dump just 'cause you missed me?" 

Joyce rolled her eyes and gave him a scoffing laugh. "Keep telling yourself that, Ackerman. You might actually believe it after a while." she stepped closer to him, unaware that Hopper was wandering off to look at the pictures hanging on the wall. "I came back to get some paperwork. Judge Walters is gonna have your ass in contempt if you don't get those 5's in on time. I figured that I'll have to do them myself since I'm not gunning for desk duty because my partner is in tombs. Your irresponsible ass can thank me later." she said, gathering a pile of paperwork and files from both of their adjoining desks. Danny Ackerman, her partner from day one, as soon as she had gotten her promotion. He was a nice guy, but he hadn't really paid close attention to the rules against fraternizing during his time in the academy. Half of his banter with her was flirt-based and usually ended with him trying to take her out for a drink. Sometimes, especially after a nasty case, she hesitantly agreed. Except it was usually only when she knew she needed to drink the images away and whatever booze she had at home wasn't strong enough to do the trick. 

"That's why you're my favorite, Byers." he gave her a Cheshire cat grin before spotting Hopper from behind her. His grin dropped and he leaned in closer to talk to her quietly. "Is that the one you were telling me about? El's dad? 'Guy looks like he hasn't seen the sunlight in a few years." he whispered, trying to snag a covert glance at Hopper without him noticing. She hadn't told Ackerman much about the situation, just a slightly varying story from what she had confided in her captain. Just that she was taking time to help a friend out of a problem he had gotten into. 

Joyce's eyes fell to the tile floors, her vision tracing along the grout between each tile. "Yeah, that's him," she admitted softly, her eyes rising back up to watch as Hopper glanced around the room. He was scanning over the banker's boxes filled with evidence and files, a life he remembered so clearly. A life he was in charge of. God, it hurt to even look at him. 

"He a junkie or somethin'?" Ackerman asked, earning a vicious glare from Joyce in return. He wasn't exactly the best at keeping his volume down, and from the slight flinch she saw, she knew Hopper had heard him. 

_"No,"_ she snarled. "Now shut the hell up and get me a box for this stuff if you still want me to carry your weight," she said, motioning at the papers in her hand. 

"Fine, but I was just about to call you anyway. Cap Lasky wants to talk to you," he whispered, nodding his head towards the office door on the other side of the room. In the doorway, she saw the familiar face of her Captain watching her. 

"Byers, got a second?" he asked. Joyce held up her finger before rushing over to Hopper's side.

"Hey, Hop," she grabbed his attention, quietly pulling him aside and reuniting her palm with the material that covered his arm. "I'll be right back, my Captain wants to talk to me. Is that okay?" 

He nodded, aimlessly looking at the area surrounding her as he made sure not to meet her eyes. "Yeah, I'll be right here," he whispered, turning around to look at her desk. As she walked away, he picked up another photo of her and the kids that sat on her desk. The frame was covered in dust, showing him that it hadn't moved in quite a while. She was steady. Grounded, even. So much so that a photo of their family hadn't moved in ages. 

Joyce shut the Captain's office door behind her, anxiously taking a seat across from him. The official story that she had given him was that Hopper had been on duty when he had become wrongfully imprisoned. Although it wasn't far off from the truth, she had kept the details to herself. Each time she told the lie, visions of the tragedies at Starcourt crossed her mind. The excruciatingly painful smile he had given her as a token of his farewell. The last smile he had ever expected himself to give. 

Captain Lasky knew there was more to the story than she was letting on, but he didn't ask many questions. That was part of the reason why she trusted him almost as much as she once trusted Hopper. She could talk to him about any problem, leave out any confidential detail, and he would stay respectful about it while also helping her solve the issue. The man had become both a mentor and a father figure to her, helping her transition into her new career. He was a rare type of man, he gave her the same respect he gave to his male officers. He gave her leniency with her kids and schedule. In return, she was one of the best damn cops under his command. 

"I'm glad to see you're safe and sound. Welcome back — for now, at least. I'm still pretty certain you need some more time off." he gave her a solemn look, leaning back in his chair as he folded his hands in his lap. 

"Cap, two weeks is a lot of time to take off. I've already been gone for a week and I feel guilty. I'm not too sure if I can stand another week away... let alone afford to use up my sick days." she protested, just as she always did. She spent so much time trying to prove that she could handle the job, she couldn't properly deal with it when she had been given a break. 

"Joyce," the older man sighed. Using her first name was usually a sign that he was talking more as a supportive figure, and not so much as her boss. "Right now, you need to focus on your family. From what you've told me, Jim is like family to you. You've both been through hell, you gotta stop worrying about the rest of us and worry about getting your family back on track, alright? We'll all be here when you get back and everyone knows how hard you've been working. This time off isn't a punishment, it's something you're entitled to. Take a copy of your open case files home for a few days if you want, but I don't wanna see you back here until next week. Not until you've settled back in." 

"Is that an order?" she asked, sinking her shoulders back as her posture begun to fail her. 

"No. If it was, then I'd have to put a notation in your jacket. Consider it an act of care, okay?" he leaned forward, resting his arms against the hardwood of his desk. 

She nodded with defeat, knowing deep down that she should appreciate the support instead of fighting it. "Uh — Ackerman said you were about to call me when I came in. Is everything okay?"

He snorted softly as his lip quirked upward. "Yeah. I was gonna call and offer you some more time off but I have a feeling that the answer is already 'no'. I was also gonna call and make sure that you returned in one piece. As I said, I'm uh... I'm glad to see you safe and sound." 

She smiled as she let the warmth of his words bring her the comfort she was looking for. She knew what it was like to be a woman in the workforce, but she also knew how most men in her line of work were expected to always be tough and grim. Don Lasky wasn't one of those men. To her surprise, he had welcomed her to his team with open arms and a belief in her that many didn't have. It felt nice to have at least one person who wasn't gunning for her to fail. After her promotion, she had gotten the cold shoulder from quite a bit of the men whom she had beat to the punch. A few times she had even heard them mumbling along the lines of _'the only women here should be the victims.'_ Of course, it had made her blood boil but she wasn't surprised. She was just thankful that she had a squad that took her under their wing. Her captain, her partner, the other detectives in the precinct; they all learned to love Joyce's presence... and it wasn't just because she brought in a dozen donuts at least once a week. 

After the events of July 4th, she had gone home feeling so incredibly alone. She'd always have her kids, but the one last person she had left to lean on was gone. She'd never have him back or gain that connection with anyone ever again. Even her family didn't feel like family anymore. It was the moment when she had walked into the precinct for the first time when she had finally felt that she was where she belonged. 

It had surprised her at first; that sudden feeling. Especially since the environment wasn't the usual type of place she'd enjoy. Joyce had always appreciated calm and quiet... until she realized how badly she needed the noise to drown out the thoughts in her head. The everyday hustle and bustle of life going about; it became a drug to her. She was never truly healed, just distracted. Case after case continued to fall on her desk and there was no time to stop and think about every painful little thing she had survived. Instead, she had victims who relied on _her_ to survive. 

Her squad was pleasantly surprised to see how she had easily become one of their most valued officers. She knew how to speak to children and get them to open up. She knew how to talk to a survivor by speaking to them the same way she had wished someone could've spoken to her during her journey. Still, she managed to be tough as nails at the same time. She took no shit, not even from the lousiest criminals that ended up on the wrong side of her interrogation table. To be quite frank, she grew the balls that nobody thought she ever could. Nobody in the room could ever guess that once upon a time, Joyce Byers was a frail mother who allowed her anxiety to conquer her. That didn't diminish the pain she had survived, not even a little. Instead, it proved a point; to others, and more importantly, to herself. She became the living embodiment of the word 'change'. 

She looked around and she saw a second family. Out of the blue, where she had least expected it, she had another family. They all took care of each other, watching the other's six at all times. It was a loyalty that dwelled in the guise of invisibility. They didn't need wedding rings or birth certificates to prove their undying trust and allegiance. It was just part of the atmosphere. Just like that, blue had become the most important color. The color that painted their family tree of fidelity and love. Brothers and sisters, standing arm in arm to not just protect their city, but each other. 

It was all she had ever wanted.

Her hand leaned against the sturdy frame of the office door. Her eyes had averted to the floor before she could stop them. She was trying to fix that; the inability to keep eye contact with people. It stemmed from her fear of them seeing right through her, seeing every broken crack and crumble of who she was. But her family didn't mind. They were all broken in some way or another. That was what she kept reminding herself of — which gave her the confidence to feel safe whilst looking into someone's eyes. She lifted her vision back up from the floor and smiled back at her Captain again. 

"Thank you..." she stopped, relishing in the warmth that would only last a few moments longer. "For everything,"

He tried to hide his smile back to her with a subtle grin, but she saw right through him. She always did. He simply nodded in affirmation, but his eyes told a different story. His eyes were thanking her for filling the missing puzzle piece that his squad had been lacking. An appreciation for her hard work and dedication — which was so much more than he had expected from her. Not to say he was expecting otherwise, but the depth of her commitment ran deeper than anyone could've fathomed, and he knew that. 

She gently closed the door behind herself as she made her way back to the bullpen. Her eyes darted around the room in search of the man she had brought with her. Once she finally saw him, she stopped to watch him from across the bullpen. He was silently running his hands over the files, letting them splay across the metal top of her desk. His eyes were glued to the laminated names on each tab of the folders. He was in his element; his _old _element. A piece of himself that he had lost so long ago. To the core of who he was, he was a fighter. A veteran and a cop. A survivor to the fullest extent of the definition. Just like that, they had switched places. He was delicate and she was hardened. He was the civilian and she was the officer. Yet, they both remained survivors. Nothing could ever change that. 

Forcing her feet to continue moving after the abrupt pause, she slowly made her way back over to him. The world around him was lost. He must not have seen the confused stares from the bystanding officers, each of which whom were questioning who this man was or why he was so interested in confidential files. 

They didn't know his story; she did.

So she also understood why he was desperately fighting himself from diving into one of her cases to help crack it. That had been his livelihood, but now he was a stranger to it all; just like he was a stranger to the people around him. Officers wearing the uniform he once so proudly donned. The shimmering gold badge that had stayed pinned to his breast pocket for nearly six years of his life back in Hawkins. 

"Hop," she whispered, her hand hovering right above her shoulder as she tipped her weight over to one foot. She was trying to catch a glimpse of his facial expression as she did so. His head lifted slowly to reconnect with her and the life around them. "You okay?" she asked, her hand finally coming down to rest against him. 

"Yeah," he muttered in response to her question. Yes, he was okay. No, he wasn't adjusted or comfortable. No, he didn't recognize a thing nor did he understand it. But yes, he was okay. He would be at least. Eventually. 

Joyce stayed silent, watching him as he soaked in her new environment. She saw his eyes find the framed photo of El, which sat snugly between a photo of Jonathan and Will on her desk. He was becoming mesmerized with photos lately and she couldn't help but wonder if it was his way of trying to reclaim what he had missed. As if he was trying to form his own version of events behind each photo, pretending that the memory he was creating as he examined it was the real thing — not just one of a million things he had missed out on. 

"You're good at what you do," he stated simply, reorganizing the files back into a neat and tidy pile on her desk. The manila color contrasted well against the sluggish green metal they laid upon. His old life was right in front of him, just out of his grasp and comfortably controlled by her own instead. It couldn't help but remind him of the Upside Down and how things there were so similar, but just so slightly different that he couldn't put his finger on it. At least, despite the obvious death and decay that came along with that haunted place. There had always been something that was always just _off_ about the Upside Down. 

His new life was an artificial version of the Upside Down. Things were so similar, but different in the smallest ways. Their new home looked just like the outskirts of Hawkins, but the house was different and their roads led into the big city, not just another patch of nowhere. His job looked all the same except he wasn't the one sitting at the desk with a cramped hand after hours of paperwork. Now, it was hers. His daughter wasn't the same girl he had left behind, but she was a ghost of the daughter he had known. It was all so homogeneous, yet oh so different. 

She gathered up the papers and placed them in the box that Ackerman had left in her chair. She had tried to imagine what it was like for him to be robbed of everything he had known. What he felt or how everything about his old identity had been spread and passed around to others. His job, his kid, his home. None of it was his anymore. It didn't take much imagination to relate to his feelings on a lesser level. She had lived through the same experience during and after everything with Will happened. Hawkins wasn't home. Sales weren't her specialty anymore. Her son had nearly died... twice. 

She did understand, at least to some degree. Probably as close as she would ever get to understanding his side of the story. His experience and turmoil. Maybe that was why she was so desperate to save him. His magnitude reached levels that she could only begin to understand; and if anyone had ever gone through what she had gone through, then she wanted to do everything it took to make it better for them.   
  


* * *

It had dawned on her about a week before traveling to Russia, he couldn't be held prisoner in her own home. Of course, her baser instincts told her that she needed to keep him in her sights at all times. Yet, she was reminded every time that she looked at Will that it wouldn't work that way. She would only drive herself insane if she kept him on a leash around her 24/7 — worrying about him. She'd be worried about him for the rest of her life. But the last thing she wanted to do was to hold him captive just as he had been for three years. 

Reluctantly, Owens had agreed with her when she had brought up the topic. His one-year-rule had done damage to El, he didn't want Hopper to suffer the same way. Hiding out in fear that anyone on the street who even crossed eyes with him could be someone who could put him in jeopardy. But, they had come up with a solution that would be as close to compromise as they could get. 

Joyce clutched the steering wheel, anxiety pooling in her stomach as they reached closer to their homebound destination. "So... I have a little surprise for you," she said quietly, trying to hide the near-microscopic smile growing on her lips. 

He turned away from the window for the first time since they had started to head home. His ears perked up, his eyes familiarly wide; the same expression she had seen El wear on several occasions. "Surprise? What surprise?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?" she chuckled, noticing the sticky spots on her steering wheel where her palms had begun to sweat from the nervousness. "We're almost home. You'll see, don't worry."

His eyes stayed attached to the side of her face for a few seconds longer. He was trying to read through her to find her mysterious secret. Just the look he was giving her made it seem as if the answer could be hiding in one of the lines on her face. Finally, after the awkward silence, his eyes fell onto the road instead of the passenger window. "Joyce... you don't have to do anything for me," he whispered, a sudden rush of shame washing over him. 

"It was nothing!" she interjected, still wearing a small smile that she hoped would lift his mood. "Besides, it's more like a gift. A gift to make up for—" _No. _"Uh... a belated birthday gift." 

She thanked every star in the sky that she was nearly home. She was slipping; constantly letting the façade crack and acknowledging the elephant in the room. She had spent so much time training herself not to mention it, yet she was failing. It had all been so much easier in her head. 

Finally, the familiar gravel path to her driveway was visible from the road. She breathed a sigh of relief, spinning the wheel to swing a right into the pathway. As soon as she had gotten close enough to the garage, she shut the car off and quickly jumped out. "Hold on, just one second."

She rushed over to the garage door, gripping the handle and pushing the door up to reveal a vehicle that was unfamiliar to him. He furrowed his brows, cautiously stepping out of her squad car to approach her. "What is this?" 

"This," she smiled, pulling the keys out from her pocket. "is your car. '82 Chevette. Jonathan drove it for a while after his old car died but when he told me he was gonna trade it in, I figured I'd buy it off of him. The kids drive my Pinto more than I do and the squad car is my usual form of transport. But uh— I wanted you to have something... just for you." 

He finally cracked what she could recognize as the closest thing to a real smile since she had found him. "Joyce... I— I don't know what to say," he breathed, his chest rising faster with the fast-paced beat of his heart. 

"Ah, well... Owens helped me pull a few strings. He got you a new Illinois license and a new social security card just in case. It's registered in your name; We figured as long as we weren't in Indiana, the name would still be safe to use" she took a few steps closer to him, placing the keys in his calloused palm while pulling the license out from her back pocket. Her voice dropped to something more somber as she looked up at him. "We just have to remember the deal, okay? Hawkins and anywhere near it is off-limits. But uh — there's a local map in the glove box with our address circled on it so if you wanna go for a drive, you won't get lost." 

He felt the weight of the keys in his hand, focusing his eyes on the shiny metal that caught the reflection from the sun. "Thank you," he said after a few moments of silence. Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet hers as he gave her another small but genuine smile. "This means a lot to me... really." 

Her own smile grew brighter and for the first time, she felt small under him. She hadn't felt that familiar feeling in so long, she had nearly forgotten of its existence. He would always be taller than her, but the sense of being smaller beneath him came from knowing that he was strong. He would be strong again, it would just take time. 

An excruciatingly long period of time...

"I'm uh — I'm gonna try to get some rest before I gotta go pick up El from tutoring. Come on, I'll go make us lunch." she rested her hand on his arm, guiding him to follow her. In his palm, he clutched tightly onto the keys, silently praying that they would somehow help him regain some of the dignity he had lost. 


	5. Chapter Five - Thin Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Who I Am by Billy Lockett

She had awoken in a cold sweat; one of a million different nightmares plaguing her short-lived rest. The first thing her dizzy eyes had seen through her lashes was the slightly open shades of the window. Right next to her bed, the droplets of rain pooled and fell down the glass, drenching the endless patches of grass in her backyard. 

She had trusted herself enough to wake up on time without an alarm. It had become a near-daily practice of being more self-governing. Even on her sleepiest days, the ones where she wanted to melt into the bed and stay there forever, she had retrained her brain well enough to know exactly when to wake up. There were no alarm clocks in the cribs at the precinct, so she had taught herself to be more aware of time. 

It was four in the afternoon, and she knew that just by the direction of the sun through the rainy window. Her first thought was to reach over to the usually cold side of her bed and feel for Hopper's body. She had expected that he would've inevitably ended up beneath her sheets again, and that he would continue to do so until being alone wasn't so painful. 

But just as it always was, the opposite side of the bed was empty and cold. She rubbed her knuckles against her eyes as she sluggishly sat up. Looking over her shoulder, the sight of the empty spot had confirmed her suspicions. He was nowhere near her. 

With a surprising feeling of subtle disappointment, she slumped back down with her head against her forearm. She was retraining a lot of things about herself lately. Now, she had to train herself not to worry herself sick when he wasn't in her near vicinity. She tried to think back to the moments before her sleep had consumed her. She had made them lunch and then offered her empty half of the bed to him for his own rest. He had reluctantly agreed, telling her that he wanted to clean up from lunch first and that she should get a head start. Her plan was to wait up for him, but she was out before her head hit the pillow. Judging by the frigid and neat sheets next to her, he had declined to join her after all. 

She forced herself back up and out of the bed, knowing that she had a tight thirty minutes before she had to get El from tutoring and then get home in time to make dinner for everyone. While unraveling herself from the sheets, she tried to talk her worries down. He was fine, probably. Maybe he was in his room or in the living room watching television. 

With a quick stop by the mirror near her door, she fixed the fly hairs from her ponytail and grabbed her jacket. She quietly shut her bedroom door behind her, glancing down the end of the hallway to Hopper's bedroom door. She stopped to stare at it for a moment, weighing her options carefully in her head. The door was shut, maybe he was sleeping. 

The worry won the battle and she quietly crept down the hall, carefully twisting the handle to make the least amount of noise as possible. With the door open just a peek, she peered in and saw the untouched bed. As soon as she realized he wasn't asleep, she pushed the door open further to look around. 

He wasn't there... no need to panic though. 

She shut the door behind her and rushed down the staircase with her aim heading towards the living room. She tried to pretend that her racing heart was just because of the sudden speed but she knew it was from her worrying herself. 

She was met with the silence of the living room. No television, no radio, nothing but the wind whistling through the outside rain. "Hop?" she carefully called out, earning a reply of just more silence. "Hopper?" she tried again. 

Her feet carried more speed, nearly sliding on her socks as they hit the linoleum floor of the kitchen. His jacket was no longer hanging off of the kitchen island's barstool as it had been before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a scribbled piece of paper on the counter. 

_Went out for a drive... need to clear my head. I'll be back soon. Please don't worry. _

_ — Hop_

Her fingers ran over the crooked edge of the torn piece of paper. Her eyes closed as she tried her hardest to exhale the stress, the endless worry that thrummed through her veins. She wasn't used to feeling this anxiety. It was lifetimes ago when it was a daily occurrence. Now he was back and the fear was reborn. 

His survival was proof that the universe was cruel. She had spent time trying to rebuild her trust in the world; that the hardest part was over. But in times of great stress, she was reminded of her vulnerabilities to fate. How anything at all could be ripped away at any moment, and she just had to wait for it to happen. 

His survival had thrust her away from the safety net she had woven for herself. If he could come back from the dead, it meant that anything was possible. Good... or bad. 

She released the death grip she had forced on the paper without realizing it. He needed space and she needed to trust. She talked a big game when it came to El needing to trust the fact that it would be okay for her to leave and know he would be back. But what about herself? Because now, the old Joyce was back in her head, painfully worried that she would never see him again. 

Oh, how she hated the hauntingly familiar sensation of vulnerability. Her gun and shield couldn't protect her against everything, even when she had tried so hard to convince herself otherwise. She ran away from the old life and everything that reminded her of it, barring only her children. That life of feeling no safety whatsoever, no security or consistency. But he was back and he had brought all of that back with him. A reminder that no matter how far she ran, her past would always be in the rearview mirror. 

She wanted to be able to miss the times she had with him where deadly dimensions didn't exist, yet she didn't have any memories with him without those circumstances. At least, not since high school. She wanted a memory of him without the poison; something to remind her that a life with him and without danger could be possible. 

But there was no proof, she had to _make_ those memories.

The crack of thunder outside pulled her from her reverie, reminding her that she had to continue moving with time. She grabbed her jacket and quickly stuffed the note into her pocket, trying to avoid the possibility of her kids seeing it. Not that they would even understand the depth of her worry. Or maybe they would. She found herself underestimating them a lot. They had gone through the wringer just as much as she had. 

The traction on her shoes kept her steady even on the slippery steps of the front porch. She tried to cover herself from the rain with her arms but the speed of the wind blew the droplets directly onto her, saturating her clothes and hair. Even in the few steps that it took for her to get to the squad car, the rain had immersed her. As soon as she settled into the driver's seat, she quietly thanked God that her heater worked, unlike the busted system in the Pinto that would've had her frozen like a block of ice.

Her detective's instincts were pairing with her worries, as usual. Even in the midst of trying to fight her anxiety, she found herself studying every single car she passed, hoping one of them was Hopper. After reaching each mile closer to the school, she felt the worry beginning to build further and further as she passed without even a hint of his vehicle. 

He was fine. He was fine, just clearing his head. That's all. It didn't matter that it was storming outside and that he was clueless about his surroundings. He was fine.

She pulled into the school parking lot to see El standing with an umbrella over her head and disappointment in her eyes when she realized Hopper wasn't in the passenger seat. The teen sprinted through the rain, quickly slipping into the car to avoid the downpour. 

"He didn't... come with you?" she asked cautiously, her brown eyes blown wide with despondency. 

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Joyce responded in a soft and low tone. She watched as El's eyes fell to her lap, mindlessly picking the blue nail polish off of her fingers. Her heart broke for the girl, and she knew that despite what she wanted to believe, the road ahead of them was a long one. Everyone was just so damn confused. He was there and then he wasn't and then he was again. An empty casket had been buried along with any hope they had and now that casket had been empty for a reason. None of their emotions were coming to them with ease. To understand what they felt didn't come as a second nature to them anymore. Everything was so knotted and twisted, their thoughts and feelings tangled like play-doh.

"Um... Will told me to tell you that uh — he took our car to go see David and Jackson for their science project and that he'll be home before dinner," El said, trying her hardest to hide the heavy lump in her throat and the unshed tears. 

"Okay," Joyce whispered, nodding her head as she began to pull out of the school's parking lot. She had learned a lot about El in their three years together. Despite what everyone believed, the teen coped with her emotions better when she had the option to deal with them internally. She wasn't exactly an open book, and Joyce had come to terms with that after a while. It just took convincing herself that she wasn't a bad mother, but that her daughter simply preferred to handle her pain on her own. Of course, Joyce had always been there to remind her that they could talk whenever she needed to. Sometimes, when the pain got to be too much, she took Joyce up on the offer. But nobody had really seen the things that El had seen. Joyce would understand to some degree, but never quite as much — or at least on the same level.

After a while, she started connecting with Will more. Once they were able to be around each other without having to fight over Mike's attention, they realized how much they actually had in common. They went from being strangers to being like twins. El confided most in Will, but nobody understood El's logic like quite like she did, especially if they hadn't lived through something similar as she did. If she had a problem, she sat on it for a while, letting it stress her out until her own logic was enough to provide herself with the proper answer. Will was the closest thing she had to someone who could understand how her mind worked. 

El had a pain inside of her, a deep pain. Most surrounding peers and citizens chalked it up to teenage angst but they weren't searching deep enough to be able to see what lied behind her eyes. Once she was old enough to understand the depth of what had happened to her in all senses, the pain grew. She had discovered that her biological father had died and Jane Rich became Jane Ives and Jane Ives became Eleven and Eleven became El and El became Jane 'El' Hopper and then the cycle repeated. Her biological mother was as good as gone, and then Hopper's death and the death of her childhood — she had every damn right to be in pain. 

The kid just wanted to love. Somebody, anybody, anything. She wanted to give what she had never received, but love became clouded with pain. Joyce had revived her a little, managing to bring out the happy El she had recognized from their time spent together after '84. She'd bring El snacks and games to the cabin, have girls' night when Hop worked late. She knew who El was in her core, but she couldn't deny that a piece of that girl had died right along with the supposed death of her adoptive father. 

"El..." Joyce started, staring at the rainy roads and the wipers that crossed her windshield every few seconds. 

"Just tell me that he's coming home later," El interjected, refusing to take her eyes off of whatever subject she had glued them to. Her words had ice in them, a frigidness that the teen had spent so much time trying to get rid of. But she knew just by looking at Joyce that Hopper had wandered off and that they were not off to a good start. "Please... just tell me he'll be back."

It broke Joyce's heart to hear the girl pleading with not only her, but God as well. "He just went out for a drive, that's all," she spoke carefully, each word curated to sit as comfortably as possible with the teen. "He used to do this all the time, sweetheart. And each time, he _always _came home after."

"Not always," El mumbled so quietly that Joyce would've missed it if the radio were up even one notch. 

Joyce closed her eyes for as long as she was able to without veering off of the road. All of two seconds away from the rainy world around her. She could feel the heaviness of El's heart — it poisoned the air. 

The heavy droplets of rain on the windows reflected with color; shades of Joyce's off-duty 'Illinois Police Dept.' shirt and El's black and white striped backpack. With the dreariness outside, even the deep green trees could barely bring color back to the world. But somehow, with both of them snug in the cab of her car, they managed to keep some of the colors in the world that were turning into shades of grey. How could Hopper's black hole be so close when everything was supposed to be okay again? The dark and hollow world around them wanted to swallow them up into the desaturation, but they were fighting it without even realizing it.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. As soon as they pulled into the wet gravel driveway, El had nearly flown into the house with the car door slammed behind her. Joyce stayed back for a moment, watching her daughter disappear into their home. The girl was grieving. She was always at least six degrees of separation away from grief. Now, she was right back to the famous second stage of grief; anger. Pissed off that the world was playing games with her; toying with her heart. 

El hated change after a while. For her entire life, all she had ever wanted was change. But now, every moment was cycling through different phases and all she wanted was some goddamn stability again. A taste which she had gotten for the three years of Hopper being gone, but those years felt empty despite being stable. 

After watching the front door shut and continuing to stare at it for a blank five minutes, Joyce turned the car off and forced herself to go inside and start dinner. She had expected things to be hectic after bringing Hopper home, but the house had gone still with an unfamiliar coldness. Jonathan was a few hours away in Chicago for college. Will was usually laser-focused on his schoolwork and grades, trying to get a scholarship into MIT. El was often with friends, trying to reclaim the childhood she had lost. Joyce practically lived at work, doing anything she could to avoid the silence. 

She had tried, but things had changed so much that it was impossible to label them a 'happy family' unconditionally. They survived, and they loved each other, but none of them would ever want to admit that their lives had been forever altered after Hopper's death. They wouldn't admit it because it was too terrifying to even consider that no matter what, a part of themselves would always be miserable. It was even scarier to make peace with the fact that the idea of being forever chained to that genre of pain was no longer necessarily true. 

Nobody could've prepared for what life would truly be like when he rose from the dead. Now, they had to figure out how to weather it. 

She didn't bother turning on the television or the radio to fill the emptiness of the kitchen. Instead, pots and pans clanking together disrupted the quiet every few minutes. Her eyes continued to dart at the clock on the wall, somehow hoping that time was going slower so she wouldn't have to admit that he was gone for longer than he actually was. 

Trying to cook dinner while simultaneously worrying about his every move was exhausting. She had barely gotten the food on the stove before she was ready to collapse. She was suffocating, feeling every atom of tension around her. She was worried about El, she was worried about Hop, she was worried about every little thing out of her control. After another thirty minutes had passed, she had put aside her attempts to let El cool down and found herself wandering towards the teenager's bedroom door. 

"Come in," she heard the tiny voice speak after she briefly knocked. El was sitting on her bed, hunched over her homework while pretending to read. 

"Hey, sweetheart. Doing some light reading?" she asked, cautiously perching herself on the edge of the bed. 

El nodded, pursing her lips as she kept her vision glued to the pages in front of her. Anything to avoid Joyce's sad eyes. 

"Well... you might be able to read it a little bit better if you turn the book right side up," Joyce chuckled softly, flipping the book that her daughter was so obviously not reading. El couldn't help but quirk her lip upwards before closing the book and tossing it aside. Another beat of silence passed them, El still refusing to look up from her lap. 

"Are you okay?" Joyce asked, her voice low and calm, her head turned to try to gain some eye contact. She watched as El heaved a deep sigh, picking at the seams of her clothing fabric. 

"No," she whispered, throwing her mother slightly off guard with an actual honest answer. "I feel like none of this exists, y'know? Like déjà vu or something. I thought he'd wanna see me but he isn't here."

Joyce frowned, giving a sigh of her own. "Honey, I have no doubt in my mind that he wants to spend every waking moment with you. But you know how sometimes you like to be alone when you feel sad or when you aren't really sure what it is that you're feeling?" El nodded. "Right now, Hop is trying to figure out what his thoughts are and what they feel like. It doesn't mean he doesn't want to be here with you." 

"I know," El said with a tone of protest. Slowly, her finger pointed to her chest and her wide brown eyes looked up at Joyce. "but... I have been through something similar to what he has been through. I can help him... I _want_ to help him. I don't want him to run away from us. He missed so much, and so did I. But I can't help if he isn't here." 

Joyce sat quietly and listened, nodding at the teen's logic. She had a point — if anyone knew what Hopper had gone through, El knew it to the fifth power. "He's gonna come back. I promise. If he isn't home by tonight, I will go out and look for him. But El, he's stuck right now. He doesn't know what to think or feel. He's happy and he's sad at the same time. He's confused, and I think he might be scared to be around us when he's feeling that way."

El didn't move, she didn't even flinch at the words. "Why?" she murmured, feeling her eyes fill heavily with unspilled tears. 

Joyce sighed, readjusting herself to sit more comfortably on the bed. "Remember when I started my new job as a police officer?" El nodded. "And we talked about how sometimes people who go through something difficult or have something bad happen to them feel guilty about it, even when they have nothing to feel guilty about? If I had to guess, I'd say that maybe Hopper feels so many upsetting emotions that he doesn't want us to feel them either. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, but it hurts more with him not being here than it does if he were here!" El cried, frustratedly shoving the rest of her homework out of the way. "It's gonna hurt every time he leaves now. Why doesn't he understand that?"

Moments like these made Joyce feel so small. Like she wasn't an adult mother who had grown up, but just a bare and stripped human being who couldn't find the answer to that question. Suddenly on the same wavelength of El, realizing that she didn't understand life despite how many years she had lived. 

"He will, sweetheart. Eventually, he will." 

* * *

"Will, honey. Can you pass the potatoes, please." Joyce asked quietly, taking the ceramic bowl that he handed over the round table. El was to her left, poking her fork at the broccoli on her plate without eating a single bite. Everyone kept their head hung low, except for the occasional looking up at the clock. He had been gone for almost three hours, and each second that passed was more excruciating than the last. 

Will had instantly read the atmosphere when he had come home. He went from bursting with the excitement of seeing Hopper to sudden silence and solemness. When El was distracted, he had quietly asked Joyce what was wrong and she explained that Hopper had decided to try to find his head somewhere else. After that, he had stayed quiet and helped set the table for dinner.

Neither of them wanted to stare at the empty spot across from Joyce and next to the teenagers. A full plate of dinner, silverware untouched as the meal went cold. 

She had stared at that chair a million times, praying that if she just closed her eyes that she could re-open them and he would be there; where he was meant to be. But on those days, she was busy coming to peace with the idea that he was dead and gone. She wasn't sure what hurt worse — him not sitting in the empty chair because he was dead or because he chose not to. 

"So... he isn't coming back for dinner?" Will asked, instantly causing Joyce to flinch. Within a fraction of a second, El had pushed her plate forward with a loud clattering noise and stormed off, followed by the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut. Will glanced at Joyce, looking beyond lost and confused. "It was a simple question!" 

She tried to contain her frustration, knowing that Will didn't mean it to come across as malicious or ill-natured. Still, sometimes her son's lack of finesse with his words caused a contained situation to turn into something much more. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, averting his gaze back down to his dinner plate. The two of them finished their dinner in silence, following in suit by clearing the table and saran-wrapping the two unfinished dinners. Without saying much, Will had retreated to his room to work further on his science project while simultaneously removing himself from the tense environment. 

Joyce had tried to distract herself for the rest of the evening, attempting to finish up her and Ackerman's mountain of paperwork. Constantly glancing at the clock didn't help matters much. Four had passed to five and five quickly became half-past eight. She had been worried since she had woken up, but her worry had multiplied into so much more. Her pen had barely left any ink on her paperwork, and instead scribbled lines and circles on the notepad beneath her work. 

Watching the sun as it set had been excruciating. Each shade of color changing in the sky represented another minute he was gone. He had asked her one simple favor; not to worry. But worrying was her greatest nature. If she wasn't in a constant state of worry, then she was worried about why she wasn't in a constant state of worry. Being in Illinois, it calmed her more than she ever realized. But that worry would always be crawling beneath her skin. 

Every headlight that passed by was his for a split second, at least it was before it disappeared back into the night. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to throw that goddamn paperwork across the room and let the fury consume her. But she didn't, she stayed still with her eyes glued to the living room window's reflection. 

Once the sky had become drenched in true vantablack fashion, she had decided it was time to go looking for him. Of course, as soon as she had her keys in her hand, the familiar sound of crackling gravel hit her ears. Headlights shined through the corner of the window before reverting back to darkness. She heard him as he killed the engine and drug himself up the front steps. Even in her anger, the overwhelming relief had sated her anxiety. 

As soon as the door opened, she watched him enter with his head hung low. He smelled like shame and whiskey, and he didn't look too different from that either. She stood with her lips pressed shut, her face sparse of any convicting emotion. "I was just about to go out looking for you," she whispered, her deep brown eyes searching for a way into his. 

"Sorry." his keys clinked down onto the front hall credenza. "I uh — I lost track of time." It was a pathetic excuse and he knew that just as much as she did. 

"It's okay..." she exhaled. No, no it wasn't okay. It wasn't okay that his first real day home he had been gone for nearly five hours. Disappearing into a town which he knew nothing about; no known direction. Maybe that was his plan. To just drive completely directionless for the first time in his life. Wherever the roads would lead, he would go. But from the smell of it, it had led him right to a bar. 

"Joyce, you can be mad at me..." he said quietly, his eyes finally meeting hers. "It was shitty of me but I know you're trying not to be mad so just please be mad." 

He was pleading. The exact opposite of what she had expected to hear when he had walked in. But she couldn't bring herself to be angry, despite knowing just how angry she should be. He had scared her and his daughter more than he could ever know. 

She was too tired to be angry. Too relieved. 

"You needed your time alone. I get it." Now it was her turn to drop her eyes away from his and focus on the floorboards. "Just... can you stay here tomorrow? Please? I need to go into work for a little bit and El... she really needs you here." she wanted to tell him just how badly he had upset their daughter, but throwing fuel on the fire never helped her before. 

Slowly, he nodded. Standing across a room from her had never felt so volatile before. He wanted to reach between them and snap the tension with his bare hands. He could feel Joyce denying herself of her anger. Deep inside, he wished that she would actually act on it. He hated seeing her walk on eggshells for him, trying not to upset him in any way, shape, or form. She had become so tough in three years, yet she had never been so soft with him before. He barely recognized her anymore, but it wasn't like she really recognized him either. 

Her breathing picked up and before he knew it, her eyes had been drawn back to him. She was on the brink of saying something, analyzing her words carefully before they left her lips. He watched in agony as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, fighting herself to speak. "This is... uncharted territory for all of us, Hopper. And I know you need to be your own person again... but you scared the _hell_ out of me."

He nodded quietly at the look in her disapproving eyes. He wanted to explain why he left, but he didn't really know either. The walls were closing in on him and he was suffocating when he was supposed to be breathing the fresh air of freedom — all while she was killing herself trying not to smother him. 

"I can't force you to do anything, be anywhere," she started again. "and I'm trying really hard to adjust to this alongside you. I'm trying not to hurt you and I know you probably don't like that, so I'll drop that for just a moment." she paused, taking a deep breath. "Do not leave your daughter. You can leave me, you can leave this house. Hell, you can leave Illinois and move anywhere except Hawkins, but you can _not_ leave your kid like that again. Am I understood?" 

He nodded in return, and she wished that she could believe him. 


	6. Chapter Six - Survivor's Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: You're Somebody Else by Flora Cash

Grief had destroyed her life. Nobody who could look at her and know the truth would deny that. Grief had torn through, destructing everything in its path that happened to be what built her life. But contrary to popular belief, she could handle that. 

She could handle that. 

She would give up her life over and over, every single day if she could. If it meant sparing the kids the same pain. She could see it in their eyes. She had seen them cry in front of her and she had seen them walk away to cry in private. That was where the anger stemmed and blossomed from. Why the children? Why did the monsters of the world have to destroy them too?

They were resilient, but the world had bent them until they were nearly broken. It wasn't fair. She had watched the Mayfield girl grieve both her brother and the long-distance loss of her newest best friend. Mike Wheeler had cried more in those few years of terror than she had seen him cry in his lifetime. Her own... God, her own kids. El had lost just about every goddamn thing that she had learned to love. Her boy lost his childhood and her eldest lost his innocence. 

Why them? They were just kids. They were... well, they were babies. Just kids whose lives circled the drain with the grief that had been thrust upon them. Just like that, her own pain became so much more worth it if it had spared the children any pain. 

That had been her mentality when she had officially signed the papers to put the house up for sale. Some thought she was selfish; moving her children away from everything they've ever known. But even those who had witnessed would never ever understand that she was doing it to save them. It broke her heart as they cried and waved goodbye, but in three years free of Hawkins, nobody had died. They hadn't been forced to grieve yet another loss or survive yet another tragedy. 

Things had... looked up, for lack of better expression. Each one of them had lost a little piece of their soul, some bigger than others. But they were okay. Meanwhile. she was giving every bit of herself to everything and everyone else, and now there was nothing left; not even room for better care of herself.

Everybody talked about the move, but nobody discussed what came before it. The nights filled with shame because she couldn't pry herself off of the couch. Jonathan had gone into full parent mode and despite how much Joyce hated herself for it, she only sat and watched. Days had passed after Hopper's death, and days turned into weeks where she could only wallow in the grief. 

Jonathan watched the kids. Jonathan cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Jonathan drove everyone where they needed to go. Joyce just stared at the patched in spot on the living room wall. The one where she had axed out a hole just to see the real world right in front of her. She could feel the shadow that the veil of the world had cast, it was so close, but she couldn't see it. 

She had never gotten around to actually fixing that wall. The three planks of wood that Lonnie had boarded into it only infuriated her more when she saw it. Not because he had done a crap job at it. No, it was because after their break out fight about the lawyer contact she had found in his bag, she had stared at those nailed-in planks trying to see the sun shining through them. An hour wasted just from staring at wood nailed into a wall, it angered her so much that she couldn't even think to fix it any further. 

But Hopper did. Once the world had calmed back down and her baby boy was back in her arms, he had come over and laid his jacket over her shivering shoulders while he closed the hole in the wall. Then, as if no time had passed at all, he was dead. He wasn't coming back to pick her up and carry her out of the depression that fatigued her body. All those weeks that she had spent staring at that stupid patched wall were weeks that she couldn't be a mother. She couldn't be an employee. She could barely be a living, breathing human being. 

There were no more planks boarded into the wall. Instead, sheetrock that he had carefully re-installed took its place. No more sun shining through the cracks, reminding her that there was still light just beyond reach. He had fixed her home. He had fixed the situation of her losing her son. He had fixed her. All she had to show for it was a slightly raised patch in the wall that kept out the cold and the sunlight. Maybe that was why her gaze had been transfixed on the spot where the ax had met the wall; a reminder that he _did_ exist. He _did _help. He _was_ once there.

Nobody talked about that part. The ugly parts of grief that she had suffered. All they ever talked about was the day the 'for sale' sign had been nailed into her yard and the day the u-haul came and packed their entire life up. 

No in-betweens. Just the event and the final outcome. The new and improved Joyce whose entire soul was calloused in scars. The changed Joyce who no longer coward in fear of anything. Before... and after. 

She could feel herself slipping again. She was ready to curl up into a ball on that couch again and refuse to move. If she weren't so goddamn tired, she would be angry about that. She was supposed to be happy — overwhelmed with joyfulness. She was... somewhere inside of her. He was alive, he was breathing, and he was back in her presence. She just hadn't expected his return to stir the feelings caused by his original loss. The fact that every wincing pain of grief was all for naught and she had suffered, her kids had suffered, and the universe was cruel. 

It reminded her of postpartum depression in the oddest way. Will was a few weeks old and everything in her mind told her she needed to be the happiest person on the planet. Fuck, she was! But she was depressed too! How could it be that such beauty was right in front of her and she still felt like she was rolling around in rock bottom?

She wasn't allowed to slip this time. Not by her own standards at least. She couldn't let down her kids or Hopper. She had to power through it because now, his health was riding on her shoulders too. She wanted him to get better, and that meant keeping herself from falling lower.

She attempted to rub the exhaustion away from her eyes as she pushed past the doors of the coffee house. The smell of freshly grained coffee beans hit her nose, slightly curbing the caffeine-withdrawal headache she had woken up with. To say she had gotten an awful nights' sleep was an understatement. She had been terrified to close her eyes, fearing that if she opened them, he would be gone once again. Quite frankly, it was ironic. Three years she had spent wishing to never open her eyes so he would remain alive and well in her dreams. Now, she didn't dare to close them. 

If it were any other non-work-related event, she would've canceled so she could stay in bed and catch up on the sleep she deserved. But if there were a time where she would've ever needed this meeting, it would be now. 

Across the room, tucked away in a tall table seat, Sam Owens sat with a warm latte between his hands and another one across the table. As soon as his eyes met Joyce's, his signature charming smile lit up his face. She couldn't help but smile back, waving softly as she made her way closer to him. 

Her purse dropped with a_ clunk_ against the table, her short stature slightly struggling to hoist herself into the tall seat. Before he could get a word in edgewise, she held a single finger up as she had tipped back her coffee to her lips and downed at least half of it. "_Whew, _okay. Now you can talk."

He chuckled softly, a distant sparkle in his eye that reminded her of his almost child-like innocence. He was a good man who had seen bad things. He had been handed opportunities to do incredibly rare things without the law on his back, but he had turned them away for the sake of being a good human being. She admired him and his willingness to try to save her son and Hopper. The risks had always outweighed the benefits, yet he never even flinched. Hell, he had nearly died trying to make sure that everyone had made it out of the lab during the attack. Well, everybody except — 

"Long couple of days?" he asked carefully, taking a sip from his cup.

Joyce sighed, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she did so. "God, do I look as bad as I feel?" she groaned, diving back into her coffee as if it would take away the dark bags from beneath her eyes. 

Owens suddenly looked very conscious of his words, careful not to hurt her feelings. "You look like a little bit of the weight has lifted off of your shoulders, but I haven't seen you look this stressed in a while." his face changed into more than just caution, but adding in fear. "He isn't adjusting very well, is he." 

She knew it wasn't a question as much as a statement that was confirmed by the newfound stress she was carrying. Softly, she shook her head as her eyes averted down into her lap. "He's um... I mean, he's okay." she hurried her words, trying not to worry him too much. "He's just... quiet. So damn quiet." 

Sam slowly nodded as if he were analyzing her words. "Well, this takes time. We knew that going into this. He wasn't going to come out the same person he was when he went in."

"I know," Joyce protested with a whine. "I know that. It's just — ugh, I can't even explain it!" once she realized that she was yelling, she stopped to take in a deep breath. Trying to be conscious of her surroundings, her voice dropped into a low whisper. "It's like there isn't any light in his eyes anymore. I— I expected change. I work with these kinds of situations every day. I knew he wouldn't prance out of prison as if it were a weekend at the spa. I just didn't think he would be so... soulless." 

The despair in Owens' eyes could be spotted from a mile away. He had considered Jim to be a friend, even though the man wasn't the nicest or the kindest person on Earth. But he had watched Hopper step up and care for a little girl who had been damaged under his predecessor's orders. He didn't want to see the man suffer because of someone else's cruelty. 

"Joyce..." he paused, turning to look out the window before looking back at her. "How worried do I need to be?" 

She exhaled and dropped her head, fidgeting with a sugar packet on the table as she thought about the question. She knew what he was asking, and she hated that he even had to ask it at all. "He isn't a danger to himself or others," she whispered. "If he were, I would tell you. I know it's only been a few days, but some of his actions are scaring me a little."

"Like what?"

She instantly regretted letting it slip. She wanted Owens to think she had it all under control because she knew just how many strings he had to pull to help her and Hopper out. "He drove off last night. Don't worry — I told him that Hawkins was off-limits. But I did what you suggested, I got him something to distract him. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that he disappeared since I was the one who put the keys in his hand. I could tell he had been drinking, but he claimed he lost track of time and I think he's full of shit for that one. But I know Hopper and I know how low he falls. I don't want this to turn into Sara's death all over again, but I can't keep him prisoner in my house either. Not after I practically bailed him out."

"Maybe that's what he needs," Owens said, causing Joyce to look up at him with confusion. "He's been imprisoned for so long that it's become all that he knows anymore. And it's not like he's back in Hawkins where he recognizes, he's just in a new version of the unknown. Maybe he needs some familiarity... maybe he needs you to take that control over him."

Joyce stared at Owens, fighting back a huff of laughter. "Have you met him? I see your point, Doc. But this is Hopper we're talking about. The last person to have total control over him was... well, never." 

"Point taken," Owens chuckled, stopping to think for a moment. "How did he react when you gave him the car?"

Joyce's eyebrows cocked as she paused to think. "He was... _happy_, I guess. Like a little bit of the old Hopper came back." Just the thought swelled her heart. She was on a mission, searching for the 'old' Hopper as if he were out there somewhere, waiting for her to come and rescue him. 

"And how about when you told him about your new job?"

"He... well, he seemed to enjoy hearing about it." her eyes squinted as she looked at him, trying to understand what it was he was saying. Suddenly, it was like a lightbulb inside of her had clicked. "You mean..."

"Distraction," he punctuated by pointing his cup of coffee in her direction with a proud smile. "Not all entry wounds have an exit wound. Sometimes, you have to create them yourself. Distraction seems to be the way in." 

Joyce slouched back in her seat, sinking into her shoulders as she did so. She ruminated on his words, slowly nodding as it sunk into her mind. She had been paying attention to the wrong thing. She had been listening too carefully to what he wasn't saying, rather than what he was saying. Each time he had been presented with some sort of remnant of his past, he was revived for a moment. Moments were important, a completely underrated measurement of time because the loudest answers came in just moments. 

What he wasn't saying, he was showing. The way he had looked around the precinct, it was like seeing a kid in a candy store. His eyes had gone wide as he had taken in the surroundings, carefully inspecting every photo and poster on the dark walls. Familiar manila envelopes lying around, scattered on each desk. A sea of uniforms and the smell of burnt coffee. 

Joyce hesitated. "I can't get him a job at the precinct. Requesting his old certification paperwork from Hawkins would be too risky and the unit is full as it is." 

Owens nodded in agreement, "But, that doesn't mean he can't work. Baby steps. Don't throw him back into the bullpen, but re-introduce him to a working life. It'll keep him distracted and it'll probably help bring him back to the real world." he reached over into his briefcase, pulling out a file of paperwork. "And since I knew this might come up, I did some searching around. I can't get his original Indiana Police certificates back, but I did get him a federal copy of his training records and his old military records. Here's a list of some places around where that training might come in handy." 

Joyce took the file from his hands, running her fingers over the pages as she flipped through. One of the business names rung a bell. "Astor-Pruitt Private Security. I know them! Mark Astor, he was one of the lieutenants on my squad before he retired. He opened up the business with one of his old military buddies, their base isn't far from my place. He owes me a favor, maybe I can talk him into hiring Hopper."

Owens smiled as he took another sip from his coffee cup. "Back of the file is all of Hop's paperwork. See if they can start him off part-time, just a few hours a week. He'll love it. He'll officially be able to knock heads for a living like he's always wanted to do. I'm sure that having the upper hand will make him feel like he has a little bit more control over his life again." 

Joyce finally smiled as she felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. "Thank you," she said quietly, her words filled with subtlety and gratefulness. "It means a lot to me, Sam. You've been a godsend." 

He watched as her eyes fell. She was trying to shut out the world that surrounded her by focusing solely on Hopper. The warmth that came from such a small smile could fill the room. "Joyce?" he asked, re-alerting her of the world's presence. 

"Hmm?" she looked up, wide doe eyes staring back at him with a glimmer of unshed tears. 

Owens opened his mouth and closed it, trying to carefully formulate the right words. He had known her as sensitive Joyce, he had watched her grow into hardened Joyce, and what he wanted to say was stuck between the perfect medium of the two. "I... know how much you care for him," he spoke slowly, maintaining the tight connection of eye contact. 

She understood the sentiment behind his words but it subconsciously went over her head. Her brows knitted together in confusion, letting her mind ponder on what exactly it was that he was saying. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?" as soon as she heard the sentence leave her mouth, she realized just how much she had laced it with defensiveness. 

He sighed, realizing that she wasn't fully comprehending what it was that he was trying to say. "I mean... you _care_ for him."

She stopped again, her face contorting as if she were trying to see something that just wasn't there. Words that weren't visible to the human eye. Then, just like that, his statement hit her across the stomach with the force of a baseball bat. The tenseness of her brows loosened and she let go of a shaky exhale before tightly pursing her lips. She was swallowing her pride, trying to maintain the fact that she was handling this like it was a work event rather than a personal life crisis. Yet, she hadn't mentally made the distinction between professional and personal in this scenario. "Don't... Sam," she whispered clearly and carefully, a world of hurt taking the light out from within her eyes. Her voice went weak, barely flexing her vocal cords as she spoke. "Don't touch it."

"Just... keep an eye on him, okay?" he smiled carefully as he pat the top of her hand. "He's gonna be tempted to go back to what he knows, but the goal is to help him grow in a new environment. He might not know it yet, but he has a chance to build whatever life he's wanted. He got a fresh start, even when he didn't want it. He needs to replant his roots." 

Joyce's expression quickly weakened as her head bobbed softly in agreement. "Yeah... I know all about that," she whispered as Owens slid out of his chair and grabbed his briefcase. 

He stopped as he was walking away, pausing at her side. "Be careful, Joyce. You're doing great, you'll get through this," he said, patting her shoulder. "I'll see you soon. Call me if you have any problems."

She bid him a barely visible goodbye but refused to allow herself to follow in suit and leave. Her body was too tired, suddenly bearing a weight that felt like a load of bricks. Her fingers continued to pick at the crisp white paper in her hands, staring blankly into the void of what Owens had just stirred inside of her. 

She wouldn't say that she had forgotten about everything that she and Hopper both felt for each other. That would be a dirty and disgusting lie that even she couldn't bring herself to believe. But three years was a long time to go without someone. It was even longer of a time to see them go through hell and then have the gall to wonder if their feelings remained the same. So, it had stayed as uncharted territory, even in her own mind. Her sole focus had been set on saving him, not on anything else even remotely related to what she felt for him. Her movements and actions hadn't been pursued because of the missed opportunities they had. She was saving a friend, not a lover. 

She was scared to wander down the road of wondering what she truly felt for the man. Even the blind and the deaf would call it love since she had thrown herself into the pits of extremis to save him. But she had loved shadows before, and shadows rarely came back to life. Hopper would always be the one rarity of the bunch. The one in a million. He wasn't a shadow anymore, he was flesh and blood. But the experience of loving a shadow, of loving and losing Bob, it had warped her perception to what felt like beyond repair. Everyone had the possibility of becoming a shadow between one breath and the next. Loving what could potentially become a memory was horrifying. 

And she still found herself wondering if Hopper was actually back, or if she was just out of her fucking mind. 

She just wasn't sure of what to call what she felt for him. She simply didn't recognize what it was. It was stronger than Lonnie and Bob combined; a fierce urge to protect him and hold him as closely as she could. She felt inclined to do whatever it took to make him happy and to be angry whenever he put himself in a position of risk. She hadn't felt it as strongly until July 4th, standing on the platform as she was forced to decide whether to save him or their children. That emotion had exploded like a supernova the moment he had smiled at her, but she was certain that it hadn't followed her for three years. Not until she saw him alive again. 

But whatever that feeling may be, it never truly left. She just hadn't paid attention to it. Especially since it was pointless if he was dead. But he wasn't. He was alive and the pounding of her heart ached in her chest.

* * *

Less than surprised. That was about the only way she could think to describe herself when she pulled into the driveway and found that Hopper's car was gone. Again. She didn't have the energy to feel betrayed or any other complex emotion that would send her into a spiral of thoughts. Instead, she popped the trunk of her car and loaded the bags of groceries onto her arms. 

She knew that trying to get work done would be a crapshoot. She had managed to drop off a few papers at the precinct after her meeting with Owens, but her Captain quickly shooed her off just as he always did when he knew she wasn't in the headspace to do her job. But she didn't want to go home. The truth irritated her but the truth was that she wanted to see if Hopper would stay true to his word. He wouldn't leave if she was there or awake, so she wanted to stay out of the house for as long as possible.

She had stopped by the Astor-Pruitt Private Security building on her way back from the grocery store. For the first time in a while. she was actually able to have a few minutes of optimism while she sat and laughed with her old colleague. He had instantly accepted Joyce's plea to hire Hopper, and looked over the paperwork with an impressive smile. "Just the type of person I'm looking for. How soon can he start?" 

But the happiness she had felt quickly dissipated when she realized that what she had expected to happen had happened. The sun was setting and he was in the wind doing God only knows. With heavy arms, she managed to get the key in the door and push it open with her shoulder. She didn't bother to call out for anybody. The house was eerily still and quiet, a few creaking sounds coming as the wind rattled in the distance. 

The weighted plastic bags slammed down on the counter along with her keys. With her lips pressed tightly together in anger, she started unloading the bags with a lack of gentleness. The rickety cabinets were ready to fall off of their hinges if she weren't careful but slamming the doors of the drawers seemed to be the only outlet for the fuming anger. 

"Hey," she heard a familiar voice coming from the archway of the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks, her muscles losing their tightness as she forced herself to relax. Will stood quietly watching her as she scurried through the kitchen, trying to save the half-melted products. 

"Hi, sweetheart. I didn't know you were home. Didn't see your car," she forced a small smile before returning to the task with a little less vigor. She would've been more worried about the kids being gone if it hadn't been a Saturday evening. Even after moving to safety, her worries and fears still surfaced every once in a while.

Will weakly smiled back at her, fidgeting his hands as he turned his head down to face the floor. "Yeah, El took the car. She went to spend the night at Macie's house. She figured you wouldn't mind since it isn't a school night." he paused apprehensively. "She didn't want to wait around." 

Joyce stopped and carefully shut the fridge. "Wait around? For what?"

"For Hopper," he answered, watching as she tried to keep her composure and continue restocking the kitchen. "She got back from gymnastics and he was gone, she waited but he never came back so she left." 

Joyce's eyes nearly popped out of her head, slamming a box of cereal down on the counter. "She got out of gymnastics at two! It's seven o'clock, he's been gone for five hours?!" the shriek in her voice was loud enough that it nearly startled her as much as it startled Will. She charged over towards her work belt, grabbing her radio from the clip. 

"Ackerman, it's Byers. Do you copy?" she spoke into the static, listening to the familiar crackle before the other end picked up. 

"I gotcha Byers. Everything okay?" her partner asked, a tinge of worry present in his voice. 

"Yeah, yeah everything is fine. I need a favor. Put a BOLO out on license plate number 6JR-3422. Do not approach, notify only. Forward any calls on the plate to my home number, okay?" 

She waited for a moment, listening for the crackle to come back through the speaker. She tapped her foot, holding the com near her chest as she waited. 

"6JR-3422. Roger that. I'm on tour right now, if I see anything I'll call it in over to you first." 

"Thank you." With somewhat of a sigh of relief, she tossed the radio down on the couch and tried to go back to the task at hand. Will stayed put in the archway, quietly watching his mother stew in anger. He didn't want to tell her that he had been invited to a friend's house as well. He knew that the moment El left, she'd need someone to be here with her. Her sense of loneliness had been apparent to him for quite a while, which usually led him to the sense that he needed to stay with her just in case. He didn't want her to be alone; not if she didn't have to be. 

Ever since '83, Joyce had found that she had become particularly closer with Will. Not so much because of her incessant helicopter parenting, that had died down after they had moved. More because he was suffering in a similar manner as she was. All of them were suffering, and each of them had someone to suffer with. Someone whose problems back in Hawkins were similar enough that their pain was relatable. Joyce had Hopper, Will had Mike, but all of that had disappeared. Her son found that talking to her was easier, and she had realized the same. She loved all of her kids equally, but she was able to talk to Will in ways that she couldn't necessarily talk to El or Jonathan. 

"Do you think he'll ever be okay again?" he asked, quietly aiding Joyce with the task of putting away the groceries. She slumped down against the counter, resting on her elbows as her hands threaded through her own auburn locks. 

"Yeah," she answered noncommittally. "I mean, it's definitely gonna take some time. Hop has survived a lot in his life, and he's usually come around from it pretty well compared to how most people would..." she paused. Most people didn't go through what he went through... what any of them went through.

Will hesitated to speak again, carefully glimpsing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Where do you think he goes when he leaves?"

Joyce stopped dead in her tracks, setting down the contents of her hands onto the countertop. She bit at her lip, running his question over and over in her head and coming up with no reasonable answer other than a bar or a drive out into the middle of nowhere. "I don't know... I just hope it's doing him some good."

* * *

She waited up for the second night in a row, allowing herself to feel a little bit angrier than the night previous. She didn't want any reason to be mad at him, it layered her chest with a heavy weight of guilt. 

With her eyes lazily staring out the window, she laid curled up in her chair in the living room. Her vision chased each set of headlights that beamed down the dark night, but otherwise, her body refused to move. The urge to cry was reaching the surface, but the exhaustion won the battle and her face stayed emotionless. 

Maybe she was doing something wrong. Maybe... maybe he was leaving because of her. Maybe she didn't have a right to be angry since it was his life. But it was her life too... he had promised. Even when he had made the commitment, she hadn't quite believed him. Still, it stung all the same. From the outside looking in, she had reasoning to be angry. But from where she stood, she knew that he likely didn't mean to cause anyone pain. He loved El, he wasn't leaving her because he didn't. If she hadn't witnessed trauma before, she wouldn't have realized that victims leave the people they love _because_ they love them. Because they think that as long as they aren't around, the people they love won't feel hurt. 

She thought back to her conversation with Owens earlier. 

_'I know how much you care for him,'_

Her mind was so damn foggy from everything happening around her that she could barely analyze what he had meant. She knew what he was insinuating, she wasn't that jaded. But she could neither deny nor confirm the truth of what he had meant behind his accusations. He wasn't saying that she cared for him, he was saying that she _cared for him_. Just the way he had worded it made her feel like she was in the sixth grade again, talking about boys and the difference between _liking_ them and _like liking_ them. 

She knew how Hopper had felt about her three years ago. She knew what she had felt for him the few minutes they had left before his presumed passing. After that, it was all a blur. There would always be a part of her that loved him. During her journey to growth, she had learned to stop denying herself of that knowledge. At first, she thought maybe it was just because he had saved her son. But then, to her surprise, he had stuck around and what she felt continued to grow. Then she had remembered what their life was like together as teenagers and suddenly, Will had nothing to do with it. Maybe he was the reason it had been rekindled, but those feelings... they never left. 

Then, he was dead to the world and she wasn't sure of what she felt. Not at all. Because somehow, losing him only lit the flame further. Yet, she wasn't sure if it was regret and guilt or an over-glorification of the fact that she just fucking _missed_ him.

But she wasn't left with much time to sit and consider it. She glanced at the clock when she finally heard his tires rolling in the driveway. 10:30 pm. Right on the dot. She didn't move, she didn't even flinch. Not even when he came in and slammed the door behind himself.

She was surprised, he didn't instantly bring in the smell of a brewery and an ashtray. He looked sober, far more than he did the previous night. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her curled up in her chair. 

"Did you enjoy your Saturday?" she asked, shooting for a monotone voice that ended up coming out with more bite than she had intended. 

Carefully, he set his keys down and idled near the doorway. She watched as he took a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Joyce... I'm sorry."

All she could do was laugh; a sardonic and wary snort as she shook her head. "I don't wanna hear it," she said, giving him an angry grin as she pushed herself up out of her chair. "Your daughter on the other hand... she's the one who deserves to hear your apology after you promised to spend today with her."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before his eyes shot back down to the floor.

"No!" she cried. "Don't filter yourself, for God's sake, Hopper! Say it! Say exactly why you couldn't bear to spend a day with El who, mind you, has spent the last three goddamn years crying herself to sleep every night!" she tried to stop herself from yelling but failed miserably. But to her greatest confusion, it seemed as if her loud volume was waking him up. He was slipping out of the shell he had put around himself, his guard slowly coming down. 

Finally, his eyes met hers and she was able to see right into him. "I tried..." he winced.

She dropped her jaw at him, "You tried?" she repeated, unable to stop herself from laughing. She knew she would regret what she was saying but the words were pouring out so quickly that she was powerless to stop. "You tried! Well, congratulations you tried!"

"You don't get it!" he screamed, startling her nearly enough to where she jumped. Her eyes blew wide before she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Her shoulders slumped as she spun around on her heel, facing the other side of the room. Her forearm lifted against her forehead, wiping away the adrenaline-induced sweat that had broken out.

When she turned back around, she could see him as he breathed heavily. The anger in his eyes hadn't gone away completely, but there was still a flame behind them that he couldn't shake.

"D'you remember Will's birthday back in '85?" he asked, his head hanging low as he braced himself with his hand against the wall. 

Joyce scoffed, crossing her arms as she rolled her eyes. "Of course I do."

"It was just a few months after Halloween of '84. Everything was still raw and... and everyone still hurt. But I snuck El out of the cabin and had her lay down in the backseat of my blazer so nobody would see her. She begged and begged and begged me to let her go to Will's birthday that year. But his party wasn't until that evening and you were gonna take him to the bowling alley with his friends. So, we came over in the day time instead. I grabbed a cake on my way over and a gift that she had suggested we get him."

Joyce's shoulders begun to loosen as she listened to him speak. "I remember..."

Hopper gave an incredulous snort as he shook his head. "It was just a birthday party. But, God I think it was one of the happiest days I'd had since Sara died. A simple birthday party where I watched my kid laugh and I watched Will open gifts with this extraordinarily happy face. Out of every big occasion I could've lived to see, that was one of the best days and it was so damn simple."

Joyce closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her forehead as an attempt to work away the oncoming headache. "I'm glad you remember." 

"_Of course_ I remember!" he roared, taking a step forward. "That's the point! I remember everything! I'm not walking around with amnesia, Joyce. I remember it all! But you know what goes hand in hand with remembering? Knowing how much you've missed. I've missed _fifteen_ birthdays in total, Joyce. Yours, Jonathan's, Will's, El's, and Sara's. I've missed three Christmases, three Thanksgivings, three New Years Eves. I missed getting to teach El how to drive and helping her study for exams. I missed every single one of El's gymnastics competitions or Will's science fairs or the day Jonathan went off to college. I missed getting to see you become a cop and then a detective, I have missed all of it! All of those days that could've been the next best day of my life, I fucking missed it and everyone just expects me to be perfectly fine with that!" 

Tears had begun to well up in her eyes when he started speaking, and they had fallen by the time he was done. Tracks of her sadness dripping down her cheeks as she allowed herself to feel. To feel it all. Everything he was saying, everything he wanted to say and everything he didn't. She had closed it off from herself for so long, refusing to stop for a moment and let the pain flow over her. But the dam had finally broken, and everything within her just _hurt_ for him.

"So why do you keep leaving then?" she asked through the suppressed sobs that heaved her lungs. As she heard herself speak, she could hear the exhaustion in her own voice. A tone that knew it likely wouldn't receive a clear answer to the question she had asked. "Why leave over and over again? Why do you do that to us? Why keep doing that to yourself?"

He looked as if he were nearly ready to explode, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't force a proper explanation out. His voice simply stonewalled, knowing that he could describe his reasoning in six million different ways but none of them would capture what he meant. So, he sputtered. "You don't understand," the previously angry voice dropped into a low and lethal quietness. He started walking away, moving closer towards the kitchen or wherever his feet had planned to carry him. 

"So explain it to me! Make me understand!" she shouted as she followed him, pleading and begging. "Hopper, whatever you need me to do, I'll do it! For fuck's sake, I went out and got you a job today! I want to help you but I need you to talk to me!" 

His fists balled up before his hands splayed tensely, his face going beat red. "I don't _need _anything!" he screamed, his breath puffing as the words escaped. "What I _need_ is for things to go back to the way they were. To go back in time so none of this bullshit ever fucking happened! But that won't happen, so I don't need a goddamn thing." He wanted to tell her how he felt as if reclaiming his life felt pointless. That he could never get the time back that he had missed out on. But she would tell him to start reclaiming time now, and he didn't have an answer as to why he just couldn't. 

Joyce stepped back a few feet, her upper body shaking as her tears continued to stream down her face. She wanted to be able to hear him. The entire time, all she wanted was for him to speak more than just a few words. She should've expected this; that the first time he spoke, he would blow up with everything he hadn't said. Every word he said, all she was able to see when she read between the lines was that he didn't want her help, or her... at all.

"You're breaking my heart, Hop," she whispered in a small sob, her voice so small and fragile under his. 

The six feet that stood between them felt like miles. But it was hard to reach over miles to grab onto hope. She knew he was angry and that he was hurt. She knew how helpless she had felt after Bob died and when Will was missing... and when he had 'died'. She could only imagine how much harder it had hit him since he was the epicenter of his own crisis. Joyce had always been the bystander. She was the one who lost people, not the person who got lost.

"I can't do this right now," he said, pushing himself away from the kitchen counter so he could charge up the stairs. 

"What are you doing?" she called out, trying to follow him to the bottom of the stairs with her jaw falling slack. 

"I— I can't right now. I gotta sleep or something, I just can't do this." 

"Hop!" she called back, standing still at the bottom of the stairs. "Hopper!" she tried again but was met only with the sound of his bedroom door slamming. As soon as the loud noise had sounded, she exhaled deeply, dropping her head and letting go of her grip on the railing. 

* * *

Her white pillowcase became shaded with a smear of black mascara. Lying in her darkened room, she cried into the silence. Her breath shook and her jaw trembled as she tried to keep her volume from reaching outside of the door. Her head throbbed from the pain of crying and slowly, her eyes began to flutter until the red lights on her alarm clock faded. 

Barely an hour after falling asleep, she heard the sound of an engine turning over. She recognized the sound, but refused to move from the fetal position she was curled into. He was right; she didn't understand. She didn't have a clue, so if this was what he needed, so be it. With that thought in mind, she allowed herself to fall back asleep. 


	7. Chapter Seven - Under the Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Easy by Billy Lockett

When he had come home the previous evening, she had a suspicion that he had visited the bar during his time spent away from everyone. But when he had come home the second time, there was absolutely no evidence. Her police training had kicked in for a mere second, wondering where the hell he had gone if he hadn't gone out to drink. That thought lasted only a few moments before the rush of the present kicked in and they fell into a screaming match.

But then she had woken up before the clock had struck midnight, hearing his tires peel out of the driveway. She had closed her eyes, forcing herself to go back to sleep right then and there or else she would stay awake and worry. He clearly didn't want to be worried about, so she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Maybe he had been right. Maybe she really couldn't understand what was going on in his head. Maybe there was no way in hell she could even begin to try to comprehend the hell he had been through. She knew how hard she was pressing him and she hated herself for it. Down to the core of her actions was the fear of losing him again. But the rational sense inside of her told her that she had the right to be angry, he broke a promise. 

She understood and then she didn't. Herself as a police officer could understand the barriers of his trauma, but herself stripped away of a badge and a title couldn't seem to comprehend it. Both sides of her brain were working against one another, and she was left with the constant cycling between understanding and not. 

So, when she had heard his car pull out of the driveway near midnight, she stayed as still as stone. She couldn't chase him down and drag him back each and every time. If he needed time alone, she'd rather it be in the dead of night when the world was supposed to be asleep. He had done what she had wanted him to do; open up. Even when his words were spit with venom and anger, all she had wanted was a sentence more than three words. He had done that, he was free to go. 

Her last thoughts before falling back asleep was her focus on just how cold the sheets were. She thought back to their first night home and just how warm and cozy the world had been. Before everything had the chance to rush back and take their full attention. That night was the calm before the storm, just two people holding each other ridiculously close in an attempt to ward off the demons. 

But now, her bed was cold again. Just as it always was. It didn't matter; she was too tired for any of it to matter. Instead of worrying, she drifted. So slowly, so quietly, so painfully tired. 

Her sleep didn't last nearly as long as she would've liked. She was shaken awake by her son standing over her bed. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, finding that her alarm clock was alerting her that it was only 2:35 in the morning. "Mom. Mom, wake up."

"Will? What's wrong?" she mumbled, trying to adjust her vision to the darkness of her bedroom. A small light in the hallway beamed through, highlighting the outline of his silhouette. Her lashes fluttered open and closed as his vision in front of her became more clear.

"Captain Lasky is on the phone, he said to wake you up because it's urgent," he whispered, taking the phone off of the hook in her room extension and handing it to her. She shot forward in bed, the sheets falling off of her shoulders as she pressed the phone to her ear. 

"Captain, what's wrong?" she spoke in a hefty exhale, her heart thumping a mile a minute. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Will wandered sleepily back to his room. Her fingers picked at the splayed seams of her blanket as she listened to the man's cautious voice. 

"Joyce..." he sighed, causing her heart to plummet. "I need you to come down to the station." she listened in agony as he paused again, only causing her to tense up further. "Dispatch called got into the Eight Ball Tavern. Jim was picked up on a bar fight. We have him here at the precinct."

For a moment, she swore she saw red. The anger was the quickest to reach her before utterly terrifying shock took control. She phased out for a moment, letting his words fly completely over her head. Not an ounce of exhaustion existed within her body anymore and she began to feel filled with pure adrenaline.

"I'll be right there." 

She slammed the phone down on the hook before shooting out of bed. As quick as she could, she threw on the scattered parts of her uniform and tried to dress herself as appropriately as possible. Her heart raced just as fast as her feet did, her heart ready to beat itself directly out of her chest. With one last pounce towards the door, she grabbed her gun and shield off of her bedside table. 

She didn't bother waking Will back up to tell him since it wasn't the first time she needed to leave in the middle of the night. Instead, she barely had her shoes on before she was out the front door and speeding out of her driveway. 

The first few minutes of driving felt treacherously slow. Against her inner conscience, she flipped on her lights and sirens and floored the vehicle. The squad car roared to life on the dark roads that led towards the city. Each row of trees that she drove by became emerged in the glow of her lights. For only a split second, that was. Just long enough before her car reached another long yellow line in the road. 

She tried to tell herself to ease her foot off the gas, she didn't need to go fast and she was reaching the limit of her maximum speed with the sirens on. But somehow, the connection between her brain and her foot was lost, and the speedometer continued to climb. 

As soon as the outskirts of town begun to turn into the city lights, cars that drove from the nightshift began pulling over parallel to her. One by one, they all parted the road like Moses parted the Red Sea. She hadn't realized that her breath was leaving her mouth erratically and tears were flowing down her cheeks. The entire time, she had no clue that the audible cries from within the car were actually coming from her. 

She reached the city in record timing, faster than she had ever driven before. Her tires nearly spun out as she slid into a public parking spot outside of the precinct, rather than navigate her way through the parking garage. She pushed past people, flashing her badge as she did so and half-assedly excusing herself from her impoliteness. 

With her body in control instead of her mind, her feet ran towards the stairs instead of the elevator. It would take her longer to get up through the stairwell, but she couldn't stand and idle in an elevator until she reached the tenth floor. 

She counted the large red letters on each landing of the stairs until she reached her destined floor. Practically sliding on her heels, she pushed past the large door and ran into the hallway. Familiar faces from the squad didn't register in her mind, even though they were eyeing her as if she were insane.

Once she reached the end of the long hallway, she saw the double doors that led into her squad's bullpen. Her feet slipped again, skidding her across the floors as she made her way in. Before she could spot anyone else familiar, she saw her Captain as he stepped out of his office and shut the door behind him. 

"Where is he?" she cried in a panic, closing off all personal space between them as she ran up directly against him. "Where the hell is he?"

"Joyce," Captain Lasky called out, but she continued to yell.

"No! Where is he? Did you put him in the drunk tank? He ca- he can't... He can't be in a cell, Captain. You can't put him in there! Where is he? Just let me get him out of the cell first, please!" she sobbed, but no tears fell. Only a redness of past tears and fear instead. Her fists were practically beating against his chest until he firmly grabbed her shoulders. "Please, he can't spend another minute in a cell!"

"Joyce!" he raised his voice, finally gaining her attention. "Joyce, breathe! I already knew not to put him in the holding cell. I put him in my office, he's perfectly fine." the calmness in his voice brought her down from the flying high anxiety. "But, I would like to talk to you first. Is that okay?" 

Once she caught her breath, she vaguely nodded and tried to gulp away the lump in her throat. The adrenaline was still racing through her veins as she followed him towards the cribs. She followed him into the room and slumped down on one of the cots as he stood with his back to the door. Cradling her head in her palms, she forced herself to hold back the second round of tears that threatened her eyes. 

"Captain... I— I'm so sorry." she breathed, her voice falling so low that even she could hear the heartbreak in her own voice. 

"Joyce. You put a BOLO out on his car yesterday. I ran the plate number that you called into Ackerman, you had it re-registered in Jim's name."

She sighed and gulped again, refusing to look him in the eyes as she spoke. "I know, Captain... and— and I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have, I jumped the gun." the feeling of shame wrapped around her like a straight jacket. She had promised herself she wouldn't let her personal life interfere with her work, but faster than she could handle, she was breaking that promise. Overnight, her brain had gone from being so clear to so cloudy. She couldn't tell right from wrong. She couldn't rationalize with herself like she had learned to do over the past three years. 

"I just want to know what's going on, Joyce." he stepped closer, his arms crossed behind his back. "I've seen you work a lot of cases, but none of them have hit you as hard as this current situation has... I'm worried about you, Joyce."

Once she remembered who she was in the presence of, she wasn't afraid of letting the tears fall. He wouldn't see her as any less of a person just because the stress had started to eat her alive. Her lower lip quivered as she kept her eyes glued on the floor. "This is just... _a lot_ harder than I thought it would be."

He sat down on the cot across from her, his hands folding together as he did so. He cocked his head, trying to gain eye contact with her. "I know the situation is on a 'need to know' basis due to the... _clandestine_ nature. But I want to help you and I don't know how to help because I don't know the details."

Joyce laughed sarcastically, shaking her head in disbelief. "You wouldn't even begin to believe me." she wanted to finally tell someone every single thing she had held in over the past three years. A fresh pair of ears that hadn't seen it, but someone she could vent to. But every single signature on every single NDA she had signed flashed through her mind. 

Maybe he would believe her. Maybe anyone who saw the tiredness in her eyes and the exhaustion in her soul would believe her. 

"I can try," he said quietly. 

She finally looked up, seeing the pair of dark brown eyes staring at her. Eyes that held age that had been rightfully earned. Meanwhile, the age in her eyes came from deadly situation after deadly situation. He had seen years, she had seen pain. 

She cocked her head to the side, exhaling deeply before she had to try to force another wave of tears away. "Remember, a few weeks after I became a detective. Peter Rucker, one of our squad's biggest hits from 1967 had his charges vacated because of faulty evidence that we didn't find until we went back and looked? He was like the golden jewel of all busts in the history of this city and nobody wanted to believe, even for a second, that he was innocent. Then, he was exonerated..."

"I remember," he answered quietly. "It was my bust back in 1967, but the lab hadn't processed the evidence properly and he was acquitted. All charges vacated and we arrested one of the first people we suspected in the first place because the re-processed evidence put him at the scene. What does this have to do with anything?" he asked.

"I was there when Rucker was in court, and I remember the look on his face when they told him he was free to go. I've been to a lot of sentencing hearings during my time here, and let me tell you, I have never seen a single convict look as scared during sentencing as Rucker did when they released him. It was like he was terrified to see the light of day again because all he knew anymore was the darkness. So I looked up his file. He spent nineteen years in a maximum-security prison. _Nineteen_ _years_." she paused, her jaw falling as she tried to breathe through the stuffed nose that her tears had left her with. "Then, just like that, his life sentence in prison became a life sentence without."

Lasky ruminated on her words, listening intently as she spoke. "You know," he started. "The justice system wasn't made to punish most prisoners. It was meant for rehabilitation. But, over time, it became a way of torture. I'm not saying that there aren't a lot of people in those cells that I'd like to see suffer. But then you think about all of the people who are in there trying to prepare themselves for a new, clean life back in society. They're set up for failure, but the reintegration is always the hardest part."

Joyce stared at the floor, following the lines in the tiles with her eyes. "He saved lives that day. Countless lives. Every day he spent in that prison is another life he saved. Present and future. But he didn't sign up for the outcome. That day, he signed up to die for them. He didn't know that his sacrifice meant suffering, not a painless and quick death."

She knew that her Captain had absolutely no clue what she meant, but that he understood. He didn't need the details to understand the grievances. 

"He saved me. He saved our kids. He saved more people than I'll ever know. People who don't even know his name, he saved. He can't even go home and sleep in his own bed after that. I feel like the worst person on Earth for trying to keep him steady and grounded to help him re-integrate because that means keeping him a prisoner in his home so he doesn't go out and do something stupid like getting into a fucking bar fight!" 

"Joyce," he leaned forward. "What are you so afraid of?"

She choked back a sob as she looked him in the eyes. "He slips, Captain. It's his signature, he slips when tragic things happen. He struggled after 'Nam. He struggled when he had to leave New York. God, he completely lost himself when his daughter died and his wife left... He slips when bad things happen to him and I can't bear to watch it happen again. Not when the stakes are this high."

The captain furrowed his brows, replaying her words in his head during the small moment of silence. "Whose stakes, Joyce? His... or yours?"

With a sniffle, she dried the tears on her face with the sleeve of her uniform. "Um... are you charging him?" she asked, desperate to change the subject before his words had enough time to sink in with her. 

"No," he answered quietly, pushing himself up from the cot and back onto his feet. "I spoke with the A.D.A, we have too many open cases and bigger fish to fry than a bar fight. That, and I'm pretty sure the other guy did more damage than he did."

Joyce nodded, starting to walk out of the room before he stopped her.

"I know we already discussed this, but are you sure you don't need more time off?" he asked carefully.

She stopped walking, hanging her head as she faced the door. "No," she answered after a brief debate with herself. She knew she could use some sleep and a vacation, but she also knew that working kept her head on straight. If she wasn't working herself to death, she wasn't handling life as easily. She had one more day on leave and Monday would be her first day back. "No, thank you."

"I'll leave you to go get him. I'll worry about the paperwork, you take him home and try to get some sleep in. You need it." he opened the door for her, standing back to let her go first. "Joyce?"

"Yes?" she asked, turning tiredly on her heel. 

"Thank you for talking to me about this. If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call me. I know this is rough, but it won't last forever. I promise."

The smallest smile filled her lips as her head bowed solemnly. "Thank you, Captain." She walked out into the bullpen, all of the night shift had their heads down to avoid eye contact with her. She was thankful that she knew these people well enough where they wouldn't judge her for seeing her public meltdown. All of them had their fair share of family issues that extended into their work life, so they understood her brief moment of panic. 

She let herself into the Captain's office, slowly opening the door to see him sitting in a chair across from the desk. "Let's go," she whispered, lacking any venom or emotion in her voice. As soon as he turned around, she saw the black eye and the handful of nasty gashes that tattooed his skin. 

Even though she was angry at him, she felt the overwhelming urge to be closer to him. She wanted to hold him, listen to his heartbeat thrumming against her ear. Instead, she settled for a gentle hand pressed to his back as she guided him out to the elevator. In silence, they both entered into the lift and waited for the doors to shut in front of them. 

With a sudden whirring sound, the elevator came to life and shuffled downward through the stories of the building, sounding a soft 'ping' after each floor. The tension in the small room crackled between them, both of them standing side by side with their heads held low. The moment she felt as if she were ready to run out of oxygen, Joyce's hand reached down and intertwined with his. 

She kept her focus forward, but from the corner of her eye, she was able to see him turn and look at her with a surprised expression. Instead, she focused her senses on the calloused palm that rested against her soft skin. 

With that, her lungs had managed to reinflate.

* * *

Although she felt incredibly disappointed in herself for how she felt, she was comforted with the fact that Hopper's car wasn't going to be in their driveway for the night. Instead, it was across town, his keys in the custody of the bartender who had pulled him and another man apart. Punch after punch was thrown, droplets of blood scattering the bar and the floor of the establishment. 

But he was safe, that was what mattered the most. Not her anger, not the bruises on his face and knuckles, not anything other than the fact that he was safe. But with his lack of danger also came her lack of words. She didn't even know where to start, or if she should at all. Maybe staying silent was what he needed or wanted. Maybe, for once, she outta stop trying to understand him and just let him do what he needed to do.

She was trying to fix someone who felt unfixable; someone who didn't want to be fixed.

So instead of reading him the riot act as she had intended to do, she drove him home in complete silence. The only sound besides her engine was the gentle splash of her tires running through puddles and the sound of her soft breath coming through her nose. 

The past few days had changed her perspective of the roads. Not long ago, she watched the blacktop during her tours, waiting to make an arrest at the perfect time. The sun-parched streets were the essence of her duty, bearing witness to crimes and wrongdoing. Now, the roads came into her vision when anxiety coursed through her veins. Now, the roads were a symbol of something being wrong. A place she would travel to fix a problem or to contemplate how she would fix their future. The roads meant that something had pulled her from her home, something she needed to remedy. Three in the morning and her eyes followed the yellow dotted lines. A measurement going towards Hell or on her way back. 

He was becoming two different people right in front of her eyes. One minute he would smile softly and remind her of his old self, and the next minute he was so cold and broken. 

"Hopper," she heard herself speak without realizing it. "This can't happen again."

From the corner of her eye, she saw as he leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know," he said, his voice thick with exhaustion and gruffness. 

"I mean it, Jim." she pressed, her jaw painfully tense as she spoke. "I don't care if you drive off and stay there for weeks at a time, but I just used up the entire squad's 'get out of jail free' card so this can't happen again."

"You're lying," he stated simply, causing her to whip her head around and glare at him. "You absolutely would care if I drove off. Three times has already proven that, so don't tell me you don't care."

"I do care! Alright?" she yelled, trying to focus on the road in front of her. "I care because I think you need help, Hopper! Like hell are you gonna find it at the bottom of a bottle or with your face slammed into the floor of a bar!" she could feel as her blood pressure rose with each notch of her volume. Her knuckles had become painted white with the tense grip she kept on the wheel.

"What, like a shrink? I don't need some fuckin' suit telling me I'm crazy! Especially one who doesn't have a goddamn clue about what my life is like!" he yelled back, a rising flush of red coloring his neck and cheeks as he did so. 

"Yeah, because what you're doing right now is so fucking rational!"

He turned in his seat, readjusting to face her. "How often do you think of eating your gun, Joyce?" he asked with venom dripping off of his tongue with every word.

"Excuse me?" she shrieked back in response. 

"How often? I've worked city cases, I know what they're like. How often do you see something so awful that it makes you wanna drown yourself in whiskey until you forget your own name? How often do you think about throwing in the towel because you've seen too much? Well, guess what? Out of every bad case you've ever worked, every case that you're convinced is the worst thing that could ever happen, it pales in comparison to the things I've seen. So don't even try to convince me that I'm out of my fucking mind because you have no idea! Neither does some shrink or cop buddy of yours or anyone. None of you have any right to tell me what the hell is going on inside of _my_ head!"

As soon as Joyce spotted her driveway through the tears in her eyes, she ripped the steering wheel to the side and practically skid across the gravel. With record speed, the car was shut off and the driver's side door was slammed behind her. As she made her way up the front steps of her porch, she didn't bother looking behind her to see if he was following. Instead, she pushed past the front door and marched upstairs and into her bedroom. As soon as the lock clicked on her bedroom door, she slid down with her back to the wood, cradling herself as the unstoppable tears poured from her eyes. 

It wasn't long before Hopper was in the house too, but he saw no signs of Joyce. The only life he could feel on the first floor was the family dog who was curled up in his dog-bed, hazily awoken from the commotion. The guilt for snapping at her came almost immediately, just another shot of self-hatred filling him to the brim. He gently removed his shoes, setting them neatly by the door. 

His own tears burned in his swollen black eye, running down the red and battered skin of his cheeks. He stepped into the living room, stopping as he became chest to chest with the mantle over the fireplace. He hadn't noticed the photo of himself that had been collecting dust. With blood-dried fingers, he picked the small wooden frame up to inspect the picture. 

Will's birthday party, the same one he had mentioned to her. He was smiling in the background but everyone and everything else in the photo was blurred. Joyce hadn't told him that it was her absolute favorite photo of him. Right when life was actually okay. Even in the grief of losing Bob and dealing with the aftermath of the second storm, it was still a happy day. The day he had coined as one of the happiest of his life. 

But as he stared at the photo, he felt only a strong sense of hatred for the man staring back at him through the glass pane of the frame. He didn't know who that man was, or where he was hiding. That version of himself would have found his actions to be deplorable and disgusting. Lashing out at the one person who was sacrificing everything to help him through the next hardest part of his life. 

The man in the photo would've known that Joyce was currently sobbing in her room with her head between her knees. He would've been the first to run to her and comfort her. Except, the man that he was now had been the reason why she was hysterical. 

He hated the man staring back at him, but more than that, he hated that he could no longer be that man. He resented the new skin he wore, the new personality that his pain had crafted. He hated who he had turned into. 

He wanted to throw the goddamn frame across the room and listen as the glass shattered into a million pieces. That wouldn't destroy the photo, and it certainly wouldn't destroy the past or the present. He was doing that on his own, even when all Joyce wanted to do was help him.

The truth was, he was shutting her out. He didn't _want _her to understand. He wanted to carry the burden of sacrifice on his back and his back only. With a delicate hand, he gently placed the photo back onto its residence topping the mantle. 

As soon as the edge of the frame came in contact with the top of the fireplace, he heard himself heave out a broken sob. The tears fell faster and faster, each one dropping with the next inhaled breath. His body shook as he finally felt himself breaking. A long and overdue collapse of his inner self. Re-colliding with the real world and everything he had missed. Everything about himself that had changed. 

* * *

With exhaustion plaguing every inch of her body, she had managed to change back into her pajamas. Her body sluggishly moved across the room, folding up the scattered pieces of her uniform that had been tossed on her bedroom floor. Every few moments, another wave of tears fell and another sob was choked out from her lungs. 

Just as she was about to sit down on the edge of her bed, a soft knock at the door caught her attention. She pushed herself back up, quietly creeping over to the door. Her hand grasped the handle with a feather-light touch, opening it just barely an inch before she recognized Hopper's face peeking through the crack. Once she saw that it was him, she stepped back and opened the door further.

She could see the tear trails that ran over the dried blood on his face. His breathing was heavy and to her surprise, he showed no effort of forcing himself to stop crying. She had only seen him cry once since coming home and she wondered if he even remembered. 

"You were right," he whispered, sniffling as he gasped for air. "I'm not okay. I need help."

He collapsed forward into her and she caught his bear hug in her arms. She began to cry again as she held onto him for dear life, feeling every shiver of his body as he bawled into her shoulder. Somehow, feeling him crying against her was both crushing and the most beautiful thing she could ever imagine. Her fingertips dug into the back of his shirt as she tried to pull him as close as she possibly could.

"It's okay," she whispered hoarsely, taking a deep inhale of the scent of him. A scent she had missed more than words could ever describe. "It's okay, I've got you." she pulled back, moving her hands to his head so she could cradle his cheeks in her palms. His hands languidly moved to cover hers, the same movement he had made when she had pulled him from the Upside Down.

Up close, the bruises on his eyes looked worse than she thought. She guided his head down, pressing his forehead to her own. The feeling of his hot breath ran across her skin, carefully slowing down as she began to calm him. For years, she had longed to feel his nose pressed gently against her own, but she never had expected that it would be with the both of them sobbing in tandem. 

"Let's get you cleaned up," she whispered, carefully pulling away as she ran off to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth. When she returned, he hadn't moved. He stood in the center of the room, staring off into the distance as his tears fell to the floor. 

Protection mode kicked in and she was reacquainted with the intense urge to keep him safe. With nimble fingers, she slowly undid each button of his plaid shirt. As the material came apart, she saw the extra bruises and lacerations that covered his skin. "Oh, Hop," she whispered as she winced at the sight. 

She wrapped the cloth around her finger, carefully dabbing away the blood that had dried over his wounds. She fought back the urge to run her hand over his chest and down his skin, just a confirmation that none of this was a dream. That he was alive and right in front of her... even in bruised and bloodied flesh. 

She followed the cloth up from his chest and to his cheek, wiping away another deep scratch in his skin. "I was wrong," she whispered, keeping her eyes focused on the damaged patch of skin. "This whole time... I've been waiting for you to do the talking while I stayed silent._ Like a_— like a stranger." her voice cracked, her brows knitting together as she felt herself beginning to cry again. "I was waiting for you to fix yourself, and that wasn't helping." 

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered back, his eyes following the hand that cleaned his wounds. "It wasn't enough to tell people about my pain, I wanted them to feel it." 

She stayed quiet as she moved the cloth to a gash under his eye. The blue fabric was turning brown with dark blood staining its fibers. She was cautious with his skin, careful not to brush burn the already tender laceration. She was trying to avoid his smoldering eyes that searched for her own. 

"Joyce," 

She took a deep breath, finally giving up her laser focus on his cheek to look him in the eyes. She wasn't sure what it was that she saw, but she knew it ignited a fire in the pit of her stomach. Right back to the feeling of being so small under his gaze. Suddenly, her breathing became heavier as her hand slowly came down and dropped the cloth on the floor. 

His hand lifted, threading through the side of her hair as he grazed her cheek. At the same moment she rose to the top of her toes, he begun to lean down. Her hand rested on the soft skin of his chest as he placed his lips carefully on hers. Her eyes closed on instinct and her body went warm at his touch. 

Her body's movements came without the slightest thought, doing only what felt right for the moment. Her lips parted into the kiss, deepening as he moved with a delicate and careful hunger. Three long, excruciating, lonely years that finally led up to the exact moment that he had wanted with every ounce of his being. 


	8. Chapter Eight - The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Remedy by Adele

She was keeping hope. Painfully, but hope was hope. She wasn't sure what had changed things; the kiss, or the fact that they hashed out what was lying beneath the surface. She didn't really care to know the answer either. What she did know was that the last seven days, a week after his arrest, he seemed... different.

A good different. 

It was an oddly appealing feeling for someone who hated change as much as she did. Much like a scalding hot bath against frigid skin. A comfort that came with the pain of hoping it would remain just as good. Just as warm. 

Sitting around the dining room table the following morning, everyone diving into their breakfast, it was like being immersed in domestic bliss. Hard to believe it could even be real and not just a figment of her grief-stricken psyche. The sound of El spraying whipped cream on her Eggos, Will squeezing what was left of the maple syrup, and Hopper quietly laughing under his breath. God, it was a sound she never thought she'd hear. 

She forced herself to stand in the kitchen and just watch; just for a few moments. She needed something to soak up, something to fuel the hope she so desperately wanted to cling to. With her coffee mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other, she watched them be a family. 

But the real world didn't pause for her, and she soon had to return to society and do what she did best: her job. She wasn't complaining... well, only a little bit. She had started off by counting down the minutes until she could return, but then, just like that, she couldn't ever imagine stepping away from the sight in front of her. She had wanted to return to work so she could avoid the stress at home, but her home didn't feel like a battlefield for seven glorious days. 

He was smiling more. Spending more time with El and just being present. El was happier, she was happier, it was what they needed. She could still see the parts of him that were clammed up and shut off from everyone else, but she would take whatever she could get from him. Whatever he had to give, she was ready to open her arms to it. 

The moment she had stepped foot into the precinct, she already felt homesick. It was odd since usually, the only place she felt homesick for was the precinct itself. That didn't diminish the sense of happiness she still had for returning. Her job was never really a job to her. Not like Melvald's. She didn't drag her feet and dread going in every single day. Instead, she found true happiness in doing what she felt was right for herself. She had once dreamt of who she would be once she could conquer her anxiety, and now, she was becoming that person. 

As she made her way to her desk, she glanced around, taking in the sight of what finally felt like returning for good. Ackerman was sitting at their adjoined desks, his feet propped up as he scrubbed the barrel of his gun with a bristle brush. She smiled and rolled her eyes, smacking down a pile of paperwork as she crashed down into her chair. 

"Look who's back. You're late. Miss me?" he asked, cracking a Cheshire grin as he watched her assort the files on her desk. 

"Not even a little bit," she smirked, swatting at his work boots so his legs fell off of the surface. "And the Captain insisted that I took a half-day today, it's only noon so stop complaining. Catch any cases while I was gone or did you just sit around on your lazy ass the whole time?"

He barked out a laugh before taking a sip from his coffee mug. "Yeah. While you were busy flying off the grid I finally caught the son of a bitch who was stealing Sudafed from the local pharmacies. 'Had to hand the case over to narcotics but it was worth it to see the smug bastard's face when I slapped the bracelets on him."

Joyce raised her eyebrows as she chuckled. "I'm surprised you let them take the collar for that one. You've been hellbent on that case for weeks now."

He rolled his eyes, not bothering to wipe the cheesy grin off of his face. "Yeah, well, those jackholes can handle the meth labs, I'm not trying to get my face blown off. That, and I owed a favor to a buddy of mine over in the unit. His stats are dropping a little too low and he needed the win. And before you have the opportunity to rub it in my face, I'll 'fess up and admit that it wasn't just me who caught him. Marshall helped me put together the pattern." 

Joyce looked up and over towards the other side of the room at one of the detectives pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Marshall! What the hell, man? Are you trying to steal my partner?" 

Ackerman cackled as the other detective swatted his hand in the air. "Nah, you can keep him. He's a pain in my ass. You're a saint for putting up with that one, Byers." Joyce laughed and Ackerman glared at the man across the room.

Joyce smiled as she leaned back in her chair, lighting up a cigarette between her lips. As she took a puff and exhaled the long string of smoke, she grabbed a file and flipped through the paperwork. "Jesus, Danny. Your handwriting is awful. You really need to work on that." 

"How 'come you're always ripping on me? Can't you find something to compliment me on for once?" he laughed, grabbing his own pack of cigarettes and lighting one as well. 

"Fine," she paused, rolling her eyes. "I guess your driving skills don't suck as bad as they used to." 

Others around the room snickered as they heard the banter between the two. Ackerman let out another throaty laugh. "Alright, I'll take what I can get. We're short on Uni's today so Cap' is sending us out to patrol for the rest of our shift. Morning crowd clocks out in a half-hour or so. Hit the road in fifteen?"

"Sure," she chirped, taking another long drag from the smoke. When she looked up from her paperwork, she noticed that her partner was staring quizzingly across the room. His eyes were narrowed as he watched a familiar face wander into the squad room. 

"Uh, Joyce? I think you have a visitor."

Joyce knit her brows together for a split second in confusion. She kicked off the floor to spin her chair around. Across the room, she saw as Hopper spotted her face. He was dressed in his work uniform. A solid black long sleeve turtle neck with camouflage cargo pants tucked into combat boots. As soon as he recognized her, he made his way closer to her. 

"What's wrong?" she asked, her heart dropping into her stomach as she stood up. She couldn't help but feel an instant worry as her first instinct. 

"Nothing. You uh– you forgot your house keys. I went home for my lunch break and I found them sitting on the counter." he chuckled almost silently, placing the keys in her palm. "You were still sleeping when I left this morning but I didn't want you to get locked out." 

Her worry faded and a smile grew in its place. "Thank you. So, day four of being a mercenary. You seem to be enjoying it." she laughed as her eyes sparkled. She was noticing another small change in him since his job had started; he felt a purpose when it came to his line of work. He hadn't said that directly, but she could tell that the moment his uniform was on, he was a happy man. 

"I'm not a mercenary." he laughed a little louder. She had spent the past few days calling him that, each time he just rolled his eyes and smiled. "My official title is a 'private security agent', if I were a mercenary, I'd be making a _lot _more money."

"Well, thank you for my keys, Mr. Private Security Agent. Thanks to you, I won't freeze my feet off while trying to remember where I hid the spare. Here, let me grab you a cup of coffee before you have to go back." she patted his chest with her palm before running over to the coffee maker.

Ackerman tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation, but as soon as Joyce had her back turned, he watched as Hopper picked up a photo frame off of Joyce's desk. She had added another one since he had been to her precinct for the first time. This one didn't have a thick layer of dust covering it. He hadn't had any time to look the last time since it was when he was being bailed out, but it was new. He stared at the photo as he felt his stomach drop. Hawkins Snowball of '84. El was standing next to Hopper in her pretty pink and grey dress. It was a polaroid snap courtesy of Jonathan. They were both smiling, happy and nervous for her to capture another moment in society. 

He had spent the previous week battling off what felt like a wave of sadness. It was cresting, yet he continued to fight it, push it away with all of his force. He was running as fast as he could away from it. He wanted to turn over a new leaf, he really did. It was hard when the shadow of the oncoming tsunami was casting over everything good in his life; creating a reminder of what he had missed. He wanted this to be over, for life to return to its normal status and to no longer feel the crushing pain of a gaping hole of missing memories.

Normal was over, he had told himself that a hundred times. He could fight tooth and nail for what he had, but he would still be haunted by what he had lost. For the longest time, when El had first gone under his wing, he refused to let himself say it was a second chance. He had told Joyce just how badly he wanted a second chance, but admitting that he had one meant admitting what he had to lose. The moment he had taken it all for granted, the world had taken it away.

She was looking down into the cup she was stirring when he set the photo down, turning towards the sound of her footsteps. Her face dropped when she saw him turn around, his skin going pale as he fought off the oncoming nausea. "You okay, Hop?"

"Yeah," he said breathlessly, taking the coffee that she was holding out for him. "Thank you," he murmured, nearly pushing past her on his way for the door. 

"Wait," she called out, spinning on her heels to face him. "I'll uh— I'll see you for dinner, right?" she felt the overwhelming urge to be cautious around him again. In the split-second that she had left him, she had returned to find him looking as if he had just seen a ghost. 

He was looking over his shoulder, only turning to face her a few degrees from his destination. She watched him flex his jaw, an ordinary tic that she had recognized as a reflex to consideration. "Yeah," he replied, trying to sound the slightest bit confident in his words. "See you then."

"Okay... have a good rest of the day," her words were weak but it didn't matter since he was already gone before she had said them. When she turned back around, Ackerman was clearly pretending not to be listening. She would've bought his bogus act at first if it weren't for the fact that the file he was nose deep into was upside down. She rolled her eyes, snatching the file out of his hands and turning it right side up before charging away. "Eavesdropper."

* * *

On the east side of the city's outskirts, Joyce and her partner sat cooped up in the cab of the squad car. It was ironic to her, really, how she could feel nostalgic for a time that wasn't too long ago. On the days when this would be a normal occurrence, day to day life on patrol duty. Not the rarity it was now that she was a detective. Actually, not rare, more like unheard of. Part of her wondered if they were actually short on uniformed officers or if her Captain just didn't want her right back into the swing of things yet. 

Either way, it didn't really matter. Instead, she was soaking up the moment that brought her back to her first year as a beat cop. She still wore the uniform sometimes, especially when she needed the mirror to remind her of who she started off as in this new life. It already seemed as if it were lifetimes ago. Now, she was right back in the passenger seat of the squad car, sipping burnt coffee and casually watching the roads. 

She had finally found a job that wasn't really that much of a job to her. She didn't dread waking up every morning, not even when she was just a basic desk jockey. She adored her job, right down to the lowest rank she could be. In some ways, the fact that she loved her job made her a better person. Being a better person made her a better mother, and being a better mother made her family's grief a little easier. 

She needed her job just as much as she needed oxygen. 

Ackerman had been surprisingly quiet while they sat parked in a wooded area. She couldn't help but feel a little bit concerned because usually, he didn't know when the shut the fuck up. Instead, he sat so quietly that she almost forgot he was there. 

She sighed, exhaling a deep breath before braving herself into a conversation she wasn't sure she wanted to have. "Alright, spit it out. Why aren't you talking my ear off? We've been sitting here for an eternity and you've said approximately six words to me. " she asked, setting her lit cigarette down in their make-shift ashtray which was really just an empty cup-holder. 

He flinched when she spoke, doing a double-take to look at her before turning his attention back out through the window. "Back when you and I were riding the desks, two beat cops in a busy city," he chuckled, "I asked you why you joined the academy. I remember you told me that you were looking for a change because you had just lost someone important to you. You didn't say their name, and I didn't ask..."

Joyce felt herself beginning to cower as she looked at him through the corner of her eye.

"It was Jim, wasn't it?" he asked, sounding more like a statement than a question. 

She knew she was wading into dangerous territory by letting this conversation carry on any further. Yet, she felt somewhat allured by the fact that he was paying attention to her life. That and the fact that she desperately wanted to confide in someone didn't help the urge to fight it back. 

"Yeah," she breathed, keeping her eyes glued to the yellow lines painted into the roads. 

"You thought that he had _died?"_ he asked, losing his breath as he did so. She could hear the assumption of pain in his voice — like he was trying to put himself into her shoes for a moment before realizing how excruciating that would be. 

"I spent almost three whole years thinking that, yes."

He gave a shocked huff as he shook his head in disbelief. She was trying to refuse to look at him. If she did, she'd see the effect that the smallest amount of information had on someone who hadn't witnessed what she had. She'd be forced to recognize that it was traumatic to even think about, let alone live through. "Jesus..." he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How the hell'd you get through that?"

That was enough for her to finally turn her head and face him. Her shoulders shrunk as if she were retracting back into her shell. The fact of the matter was that she wasn't 'through' it just yet. But she knew what he meant. He was talking about the raw and rough beginning of grief. She didn't talk much about those days, so entirely ashamed of herself for how she had handled it. Yet, despite the self-loathing attitude towards her actions, she could hear herself as she began to answer his question. 

"The first few weeks were the hardest." she started off with a whisper. "I couldn't sleep. I'd go days and days without sleep, just staring off into space." A million deep breaths couldn't take away the pit in her stomach that grew as she brought herself back to those moments. "For a while, I just didn't move. I'd count the stripes in the wood paneling on my walls until I lost count, and then I'd start doing it again."

"Then what happened?" Ackerman asked, staring at her with a hurt in his eyes that she wished she couldn't see. He was meeting a new side of his partner for the first time. 

"I started to hate myself. No matter how badly my kids needed me, I just _couldn't_ move. Two weeks after everything and I had only slept a few hours in total. Eventually, my oldest son couldn't handle it anymore, he saw just how tired I was..." she paused, swallowing the guilt that rose in her throat. "He gave me a sleeping pill, and everything just sunk. I could close my eyes again, I could breathe again, I could _sleep_ again."

The pain in his eyes only intensified as she continued, and she hated herself for allowing another innocent person into the world she had lived in, even if it was just for a sliver of the story. 

"Just like that, I remembered how incredible it felt to sleep. All I wanted to do was sleep," her eyes clamped shut, her head slightly shaking as she remembered what it felt like to roll around on rock bottom. "So, I did... One pill became two and two became four and eventually, I was emptying those bottles faster than I could buy them. Over time, they stopped working and I was right back to square one. I was chasing numbness, a life where I didn't have to be awake anymore or feel anything anymore. In some weird, fucked up way, I finally understood why Hopper couldn't set down the pill bottle after his first daughter died."

"You were trying to keep him alive through yourself," Ackerman said, catching her completely off guard. She turned her head to stare at him, her jaw falling ever so slightly. 

"Yeah," she whispered, followed by a breathy sarcastic laugh. "I guess so."

"Then what happened?"

Tears began to brim in her eyes. She squeezed them shut, hoping to evade the feeling of weakness for shedding her sadness. "I realized that I was hurting my kids because I was mad at the world. El, she had lost everyone already, I didn't wanna do that to her or my boys. If I didn't stop, the next person to end up in a grave would be me. It took me a while to admit it, but I knew that Hop wouldn't want that for me or for the kids. Subconsciously, I knew that already. I just couldn't let the thought cross my mind without becoming angry or depressed. So, I sent the kids to their friends' houses for the weekend, locked myself in my house and forced myself to detox."

"Is that why you became a cop?" he asked quietly. 

"Yeah," she finally cracked a soft smile. "I realized that if I wanted to keep some part of him alive through myself, he deserved to be a better memory than the bottom of a pill bottle. He offered me a job at the station back home, I was gonna take him up on it before... y'know. The thing is, after I became a cop, I realized that I wasn't just doing it for him. I was doing it for me too. That's what he really would've wanted."

Ackerman glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "He's lucky to have you in his life," he whispered, almost as if he wasn't quite sure if he wanted her to hear him. 

As she felt herself growing uncomfortable with the situation, she teasingly punched him in the arm. "Alright, alright. Don't get sappy on me," she laughed, watching him recoil from her jab with a giggle. 

"No but uh... really, Joyce." he looked at her, his expression turning more serious. "You're really fuckin' strong. He's lucky to have a woman like you."

Joyce froze for a moment before whipping her head around. "Oh— _uh... no._ No, he and I aren't... _together._" she chuckled awkwardly, her heart beginning to speed up as she sputtered the words out. 

"Oh! Oh shit, I just figured," he cut in as quickly as possible. "Y'know, because you're raising his kid and he's living with you and you kinda seemed lovey dovey at the station today. I'm sorry for assuming."

"_Lovey dov_— What?" she laughed in astonishment. 

"Oh come on," he laughed back, throwing his hands up as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You guys were flirting it up in the bullpen when he stopped by. You can't tell me that it's entirely platonic, Joyce." The accusatory look in his eyes was enough for her to know that she wasn't hiding it as well as she had hoped. 

"Uh... well," she pursed her lips, dropping her gaze down into her lap. 

"Oh my god," he choked out in a laugh. Suddenly, his voice dropped as if there were thirty other people around that he didn't want to hear "Did you guys sleep together?"

"Daniel Ackerman!" she shouted, "You can't just go around asking people that!" she knew if it were any other person, she'd give them a swift kick to the boys but he was more or less one of her best friends so she wasn't as entirely offended as she played it off to be. "No! We didn't sleep together... we just—"

"Just _what?"_ he teased with a dopey smile, chuckling as she rolled her eyes at him. 

"We kissed," she answered hesitantly, shrinking down into her shoulders again. As soon as she looked for any reason to end the conversation, the alarm on her watch started to beep and a cool relief washed over her body. "Shift is over. Could you drop me off at the station so I can grab my car?" 

* * *

She couldn't shake the worry that came on as soon as Hopper had left the precinct earlier. The sudden shift from his new way of expressing happiness changing into his familiar grief. He couldn't seem to leave fast enough and she had only turned her back for a minute at most. The ghastly look on his face had sent a cold shiver into her bones, and no matter how hard she tried, there was no shaking the image out of her head. 

As she pulled out of the parking garage after her shift, she was overcome with the instinct to check on him. She had done her best to give him his space, but she knew that his shift wouldn't end for another two hours and she couldn't possibly wait that long to reassure herself that he was okay. 

On her way home, she found herself driving down the long gravel driveway that led to the Astor-Pruitt Private Security building. She tried to tell herself that it was probably nothing and that he was perfectly fine, but she knew well enough that trying to convince herself of that was pointless unless she had proof. 

As soon as she pushed past the glass door of the building, she spotted the owner. Mark Astor, her old precinct lieutenant. He had always been kind to her during her first few months on duty — a rare quality from a man of higher rank. Instantly, a smile blossomed on her face as she made her way to the front counter. 

"Joyce! It's good to see you again." he beamed, setting down the manila envelope he had in his hands as he walked over to greet her at the counter. 

"I saw you a less than a week ago, Lieutenant. Miss me already?" she chuckled warmly, setting down her purse and keys on the counter. 

"Oh, hush with the rankings there, detective. You should know damn well by now to call me Mark." he barked out a loud laugh that brought her back to old times. "I was just about to call you when you walked in the door."

Joyce's cheery demeanor dropped almost instantly. "Call me? Wh-why?" 

"Oh, well, Hopper never returned after his lunch break. I figured maybe he had gone to see you and got caught up. After a few hours, I started to worry." he answered, matching her suddenly concerned expression. 

"What do you mean he didn't come back after his lunch break? He was on his way back here last time I saw him." her blood was turning into ice as it pumped anxiously through her body. Her training instincts were beginning to kick in, causing her to think of every bad thing that could've happened between here and the precinct. Yet, she probably would've heard something on the radio. It was the fact that there was nothing at all about his whereabouts that worried her.

"You haven't seen him?" the older man asked. 

Joyce grit her teeth as she gulped. "No, but you can bet your ass I'm gonna go find him." 


	9. Important A/N

Hi guys.

  
I’m really disappointed in doing this, but I felt like I needed to say it.

Usually, this is why I don’t like posting chapter-to-chapter, but I’ve been trying to break out of my comfort zone. The past few weeks have been incredibly stressful and difficult. One thing after another, I haven’t been able to write. My grandmother passed away, I was sick, I had to do a round of treatment for my autoimmune disease, I had to work on my actual official novel, and then I got sick again times a million. It’s been incredibly heartbreaking to me that I’ve let you down. Even if this story doesn’t mean much to you, it means so much to me and the last thing I ever wanna do is disappoint you guys. I appreciate how patient you’ve been with me, it doesn’t go unnoticed. I’m just really sorry I haven’t been able to be 100% right now. The truth is, it may be a while longer until I am 100%. It pains me to say that, but I am hoping things will calm down soon and I’ll be able to do what I love again.

I could easily write right now but it wouldn’t be the best I could do and that’s why I won’t do it; Not until I’m calm enough to be confident in whatever it is I’m putting out into the world. If I don’t put 100% into something, I don’t do it at all. Not unless I can promise my best and right now, I can’t promise that.

I’m not orphaning this story, but for now it’s on the back burner. Maybe I’ll update it soon, but I need to put myself first right now because I’m burning out.

I love you so f*cking much guys. Seriously. And I’m so sorry for disappointing you in this, I truly am.

I’ll see you soon.

Love, GallifreyGod


	10. Chapter Nine - Scream and Shout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can watch the trailer here: https://youtu.be/y1xazKSwgTE  
or read on wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/203849544-judge-jury-and-executioner-jopper  
follow for updates here: https://jxpper.tumblr.com/search/jjae
> 
> SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Letters From the Sky by Civil Twilight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I don't know if I'm coming back for good yet. this chapter has been in my drafts for some time now, but I've been hesitant to post it because I wasn't sure if I was ready or not. right now, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if I'm gonna take another break or what, but so many people have asked me to continue, so I hope you enjoy this.

Like all good things that came to an early ending, her first instinct was to believe that it was her fault. Her old friend, distance, had reared its ugly head already, even before she could figure out where Hopper was. It took strength to try not to beat herself up too badly for her epic lack of the ability to bring him comfort. Or, at least enough comfort to want to stick around, instead of the overwhelming urge to run. 

He was running out of space to run towards. 

But in a deep part of her mind, her self-deprecating and simultaneously self-centered anxious mind, it was her fault. She drove him away as fast and as far as he could run and continued to drag him back. Then, there was logic. Like any good argument, it consisted of both emotion and logic. The logical truth was that it actually wasn't her fault, and that maybe he needed to be dragged back. Wrangling James Hopper was no man's land since nobody even dared to try. The only difference this time around was the fact that he needed to relearn the meaning of freedom, and all freedom still has boundaries.

They had a good run, though. Seven days. To some, that would be a pathetic amount of time to go without incident, but they were seven whole days that taught her that peace between all of them wasn't too far out of reach. That it wasn't impossible for him to smile or spend time with his daughter. It also taught her just how delicate those moments were because anything could shatter them. _Something_ shattered them, she just wasn't sure who or what... or if it was herself.

There was no way of telling if she was part of the cure or part of the disease. Not unless he spoke up and told her. He was failing to realize that his old actions of bottling up anger and running away wouldn't work anymore. Not after the trauma he had been through. Old coping mechanisms didn't work for new wounds. His mind needed to heal itself, and it couldn't heal if everything he did to help only hurt him more. 

As she angrily slammed the front glass door behind her, she made a beeline for the payphone on the outside of the building. She mentally counted the number of times she heard the plinking sound from her loose pocket change dropping into the slot. Her forearm rested on the top of the box, her head leaning against it as she held the receiver to her ear with her other hand. 

The line trilled a few times until she heard the familiar sound of her younger son's voice answering. "Hey, sweetheart, I just wanted to call you guys and let you know that Hop and I might be coming home late. — Yeah, no, honey, I promise everything is fine, okay? Just... please make sure you and El both eat, there's some leftovers in the fridge. If I'm not home in an hour or so just go ahead and heat it up, okay? Okay, and make sure you do your homework too. Yes, _yes,_ I already told everything is just fine, don't worry. I love you too, see you soon."

With her head hung low in shame, she shuffled her feet as she trudged back to her vehicle. The rain had started to pour down as soon as she slid back into the cab of the squad car. Poetic, really. It always seemed to rain at the same exact time that her tears fell. She banged her wrists against the steering wheel, trying anything to release the pent up anger without screaming. She couldn't scream, if she did, she'd never stop. 

She did what she could to shake off the feeling of defeat. Just like that, she was starting to miss the person she was before everything had changed, _again._ It felt so vain to even let the thought cross her mind, but defeat wasn't a feeling she had very often anymore. Not until she was faced with it every single day. Illinois had changed her, a lot more than any monster ever could. His absence pre-rescue was a journey she didn't realize would morph her personality into something new. She missed who she had changed into, now more than ever since she felt herself slipping back into who she used to be. 

Although, there was one part of the journey that would always be undeniable. No matter the circumstance, no matter the emotion, having him back had brought along the colors of the world. She had gotten used to the muted shades of grey that her life had become without him. Everyone did. The slow-motion movement of a dark and dreary world had come along with his supposed death. But now, despite how difficult the times were, there was color in the world once again. Maybe the personality she left behind that was returning was the price to pay for the ability to admire the vibrant autumn leaves. Any other time, she wouldn't have even noticed them. 

Her true fear in the 'old Joyce' returning was the softness. The taut skin of her cheekbones and hardness in her jaw that reflected in the mirror was her badge of honor. The change was esoteric; only a few people who passed her on the street would be able to look at her and just know that she had survived so much. She had become hardened in order to protect herself, she just didn't want to break. Not again. 

But then Hopper came back, reviving her in ways that quite frankly scared the hell out of her. He was a shadow of her old life, and shadows always stayed tethered to the bigger picture. The shadow of him lugged around the past, including who she used to be. 

Maybe it was the fear that she hated so damn much. It wasn't him leaving; it was what his departure did to her. The moment his tires hit the road, she didn't know where he was. She had spent three years not knowing where he was, it was becoming a demon for her. The security was gone and the fear would be with her as long as he wasn't in her field of vision. His disappearances that lasted for hours on end were crippling her with anxiety. 

As the thick and heavy droplets of rain fell on her windshield, she backed her car out of the driveway of the security office. She wanted to leave with some sort of confidence as to where she knew to start looking, but at this point, the best she could do was flip a coin and decide whether to go left or go right.

* * *

Her first instinct was to check the local bars in town. She had managed to cross the first ten places off of her list pretty quickly, but with no luck. After that, she moved her way slowly towards the outskirts of town. The last place on her list was likely to strike out just like the rest. She pulled the car into the driveway of the Eight Ball Tavern, slamming the door behind her as she charged into the facility. As soon as she stepped in, she was met with the overpowering scent of stale cigarettes and tap beer.

"Hey, Bucky!" she called out, grabbing the attention of the burly bartender/owner. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed the photo of Hopper and slammed it down on the table. "You've got two choices here, alright? Number one, you tell me where this man is right now. Number two, I bust you for the sale of alcohol to minors and get this disgraceful hovel shut down for good. So, which is it?"

The man crinkled his nose as he rolled his eyes, snatching the photo to get a better look. Once he examined the photo, his knitted brows let up and he slid it back to her. "You know I don't serve to kiddies, Byers." 

Joyce glared at him for a moment before turning to a young blonde girl sitting in a stool, looking more like she belonged in a high school cafeteria instead of the dumpy dive bar. "Hey, sweetheart. Lemme see your ID."

The girl chuckled in a valley-esque voice before reaching into her wallet. "I swear,officer. I'm twenty-two, just like it says." she smiled, straightening her shoulders as if she was trying to establish her territory in the same manner as any popular high schooler would. 

Joyce took one look at the driver's license before turning back to the young woman with a smirk. "Nice ID. By the way, there are two "L's" in 'Illinois'. Get the hell out of here." she punctuated her sentence by folding the thick plastic card in half until it snapped. She grinned, turning back to the bartender. "So, Buck. I'll tell you again. Either I drag your ass in and make your life miserable for a while, or you tell me where he is."

The bartender sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in contemplation. 

"Oh okay, so we're doing this the hard way?" she asked, reaching for the handcuffs that were latched to her belt. 

The bartender immediately caved as soon as he saw her reach for the cuffs. "Alright. I swear I haven't seen him since I threw that jackass out of my bar last week. None of my regulars have said anything about him other than the fact that they haven't seen him around before and that he's quiet. On Mama's grave, that's all I know." he said, his hands up in the air. 

Joyce rolled her eyes, starting to head towards the door. "Your mother isn't even dead yet, Buck. Don't go swearing on her grave or your word won't mean shit. I catch another minor in here, I'm hauling your ass in and tipping off the health department about the roaches on the floor." with that, she let the heavy door slam behind her. 

As she slid back into the driver's seat for the 14th time, she still managed to keep herself pulled together. The scream waiting to be released was reaching the surface along with her frustrations that were continuing to build up. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, debating on whether or not to call it quits and go home or to keep looking. If she were desperate enough, she would've prayed for the answer... not that God was listening to her prayers very often anyway. 

Instead of going home, she decided to find somewhere to stake out for a little while longer. Watching the numerous cars drive by was one of the only things she missed about being a beat cop. She'd spend endless hours on patrol, watching the world go about all around her. 

She chose a small lot of land on the southern outskirts of the town to sit. She had a love/hate relationship with the road that it was on. It was the first road that greeted her into the new town during her move from Indiana. Her old life was nothing but a reflection in the rearview mirror that day. Years had passed, and the road still hadn't changed since. The same old blue and white 'Welcome' sign stood tall right on the line that separated one town from the next.

Sitting parked in the little patch of hidden land off the road always felt bittersweet. Each time she had pulled in, it was as if her cheeks were still damp with the same tears she had shed the day she left Hawkins. The land had welcomed her, but she had not welcomed it in the beginning. At first, the trees were unfamiliar but so similar to Hawkins; like a whisper of the past. When she had first moved, everything felt so out of order. Even though her job was mostly in the city, a few miles away from her home, the small town on the outskirts was where she lived. Every small town was the same, just in a different order. Like walking into a different classroom during a new school year; they looked the same, but something was always just _off._

Soon, the road leading the way from Hawkins to her new home had become a sort of sanctuary. In her desk-jockey days, it was the first place she'd volunteer to do a patrol tour. It made her feel close to home; until Hawkins didn't feel like her home anymore. Just out of her reach as she made the transition of comfort zones and Illinois became home to her. Still, the road that zoomed into the past always brought her comfort in knowing that at any time, she could turn around and go back. Even on the days where it felt most tempting to do so, she remained strong-willed and kept her roots exactly where she had replanted them.

They had officially reached the season of the sun setting earlier in the day. She knew from the clock on her dashboard that it wasn't as late as it seemed, but the darkness outside told a different story. Every few minutes, a new set of headlights would grow over the horizon until they passed her by. Each time, she made a mental note of each license plate number. Every time she did, it reminded her of the time she scribbled down the mixed digits of the biker's plates back in Hawkins. Hopper had told her to stick to sales, and that was the moment she decided to prove him wrong. Ever since then, catching a plate number in record timing had become a sort of ritual. She knew it was most likely a manifestation of her anxiety that was creeping its way into her job, but she still never missed a single digit. 

Every once and a while, she'd catch a plate that wasn't even from Illinois. Like her own Indiana plates that she had ridden in on. When the kids were younger and Lonnie was still making her question the sanctity of marriage, she'd drive off with her boys in the backseat and keep driving until she reached a familiar territory. Sometimes it would be a night with a family member, but she couldn't run very far with two little boys who needed stability. In those car rides, when Will would cry from the confusion of not know where they were headed, she'd play the license plate game with them. Jonathan was just old enough to read and Will had started to memorize the different state plates by their colors. The moment that they saw a plate that didn't match Indiana's cream and orange colors, the boys would cheer with excitement as if they had just accomplished a task. 

She was bringing old memories with her; clinging to them as a way to try to forget that the world was moving faster and faster right under her feet. Somehow, the old memories were the angel that danced on her shoulder while the new memories were the devil who danced in tandem. 

As soon as she was about to pack it in and call it a night, a familiar car was coming towards the patch of land she was parked in. The route that led directly to Hawkins was suddenly occupied by one '82 black Chevette with the same plates she had recognized that once belonged to Jonathan. "Oh, hell no," she whispered under her breath.

As soon as the car sped past her secluded vehicle, she spun into a U-turn to follow close behind him. She flipped her lights on, unable to wait and follow him back into town. Instead, she wanted to catch him red-handed, before he had any more time to think up a pathetic excuse. 

Within seconds after she flashed her lights, he pulled over on the side of the road and she followed in suit. Barely able to put the car in park first, she saw him step out of his car and slam the door. "Who the hell do you think you are flashin' your blues at me?" he yelled as soon as she was out of the squad car. 

"Me? Where the hell have you been?" she shouted back, rage boiling every cell of blood in her body. "You ditched work and didn't even have the decency to tell anyone that you'd be gone for God knows how fucking long? Not to mention, you think I don't know that you were driving straight out of the only road here that leads to Hawkins?!"

"I wasn't in Hawkins!" he barked as he bent down to see her face-to-face.

She slapped her arms down at her side, chuckling with fury. "Yeah, and I should believe you because you've been so goddamn forthcoming and truthful! What is it gonna take for you to realize that when you step foot back in that town, you're putting the entire family at risk?! Does that even cross your mind, Jim?"

"You're paranoid, Joyce." he laughed, pointing at her with a look in his eyes as if she was out of her mind. 

"You're fucking right that I'm paranoid!" she screamed, her volume echoing off the nearby woods. "Apparently I need to be paranoid for the both of us since you can't ever stop playing fast and loose with everyone's lives!" with the amount of anger that coursed through her system, she tried her hardest not to say something she didn't mean — or even something that she did. But God, she was tired of always having to be the careful one... especially since he clearly didn't care about being careful anymore.

"Right, because all you ever see in me is someone who doesn't give a shit!" 

"Oh yeah, throw yourself a pity party, Hopper!" she called out as he started to walk away. Her fists balled up as her nerves electrified. "That's worked _real_ well in the past, huh." 

He stopped in his tracks, turning around to face her with a baffled look. "You sayin' this is _my _fault?" he asked, his words slick with venom. 

"All I'm saying is that maybe if you learned that the world didn't work the way you want it to just because you want it, we wouldn't be in half of the mess we're in right now! If you listened to other people who may or may not have a little bit more fucking qualifications instead of going off half-cocked, everyone's lives would be a hell of a lot different!" she screeched, instantly regretting the words as they slipped off of her tongue. 

He took another step closer, his eyes going without a blink as he glared at her. "You're mad... because I didn't listen to the _fucking Henderson kid at Starcourt?"_ he spoke low and slowly, inching towards her until they were nearly toe-to-toe. 

Joyce's breaths were coming in heavy puffs that were just another failed attempt at calming herself down. "Well, it's pretty clear from the events of the last three years that maybe, _just maybe,_ he might've known what he was talking about." she matched his tone, lowering her voice without losing any of the lethality. "But _you_... you don't care about the consequences. Not for yourself, not for others. You just jump right in. I am _not_ going to let that happen again. Not to you, not to me, and not to the kids. You might not see this right now, but I _care_ about you. I care about you and the kids and all of our lives. By doing what you're doing, you're signing us all up for a much worse fate than where we're at right now."

He stared at her for a moment, allowing himself to soak up her words. "I wasn't in Hawkins," he stated simply. With a heavy exhale, he turned around and started towards his car. "See you at home," he mumbled, sliding into the vehicle and slamming the door. 

As he drove off, she managed to get herself back into her squad car before breaking down entirely. She hit her wrists against the steering wheel, letting out a horrific scream of anger before falling forward to rest her head on it. As if on cue, the clouds above her head began to break apart, leaving thick and heavy raindrops to bounce off of her windshield. God's anthem to her sadness and despair. The one constant in every single distressing situation; the rainfall.

She wasn't sure just how long she had sat in the car, listening to the clicking against the roof of the vehicle. Her headlights shined in alignment with the road ahead, illuminating every drop of rain that crossed its path. 

He said he didn't go to Hawkins, and she didn't believe him. Maybe that was the real reason that she had tears falling from her eyes at that very moment; because for once, she didn't trust the man who had once been the only man she trusted. 

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur. Joyce was quieter than usual, not that many people noticed. Somedays, she just kept to herself. Most didn't ask questions, they just allowed her to focus solely on her children and her work. 

After the second time that her Captain had asked for her and her partner to be on patrol duty, she knew something was on his mind. She had earned her badge, she wasn't a traffic cop anymore. She assumed that maybe he just wanted her to warm up a little bit before throwing herself right back into the mix of it all. Ackerman didn't complain, neither did she. In some ways, she was more thankful than anything. Stress had been eating her alive and she was bottling it up into silence as usual. Being in the field with an open case would only add more to her plate. For the first time ever, she didn't throw herself into more stress just to forget about the other problems that were plaguing her. 

She had managed to get Hopper his job back, but that was pretty much all they spoke to each other about. That, and the fact that his boss was giving him another week to get his head together first. Aside from that, the silence had fallen back over the house once again. It didn't matter, she was stupid for thinking that the seven days of happiness they had would last. She was playing house with a man she didn't know anymore. 

It was on the fifth day of patrolling that her partner had finally asked her if she was okay. She nodded simply, ignoring the depth of the question. Yes, she was okay. Was she happy? No. Was Hopper happy? No. Were the kids happy? No. Was life blissful and happy and domestic? No. Was she okay?

She would be, eventually. That was good enough to warrant her answer, despite it not being the entire truth. 

The truth of the matter was that she was developing a deep and sophisticated self-loathing. She was beating the hell out of herself for the fact that she couldn't fix the mess that they were all in. There was no compromise, no halfway happy. She was miserable with him and miserable without him. She just wasn't sure which was worse. What kind of person was she if she wasn't happy to be around the man who she had cried for even three years after his presumed death? 

There was no time that she could think back to and wish to go back. Before everything with Will, she didn't have El or Hopper. After Will's return, she was fighting a never-ending battle with post-traumatic stress and Hopper was only there to protect her. After Starcourt, she had El but she then had the blood of the man she cared about on her hands. Not a single moment in between that she would've wished to go back to; not without losing something or someone she loved. The domino effect, it truly was a bitch. 

Each day she had spent patrolling, she had watched his car zoom down the road, heading right into the warzone. Instead of chasing him down, she just watched with the look of death behind her eyes. If he wanted to go so badly, she'd let him. 

Until the sixth day of patrolling... the day she had borrowed an unmarked car from the precinct. 

She had decided to stay late, off the clock. Right back to the familiar piece of land she always parked in. This time, something had changed. Maybe it was that Ackerman wasn't in her passenger seat, or maybe it was the nagging in the back of her head, wondering where it was that he was going. She waited in the silence, right back to watching the cars commute back and forth. This time, she held on tightly to one of the polaroid cameras that Jonathan had left behind. If she was going to confront him, she needed as much proof as she could get. 

At first, her plan was just to capture the photo of him heading down the route to Hawkins. He had changed it up since she had last caught him. Instead, he went at night, no longer in the sight of the daytime. She watched the clock on the dash, flipping digits as the minutes passed on. Every day since the night she had pulled him over, his routine was like clockwork. Right down to the exact second on the clock. 

She saw the headlights begin to shine in her rearview mirror. Her hands fidgeted with the camera, getting ready to hit the button. The headlights got closer and she held the camera up to her eye, focusing it on the windshield. She had a window of time where she needed to capture the photo, right with his plate number in the photo. 

In her head, she started to count down the seconds until his headlights in her rearview would become his taillights in her windshield. 

_3_

_2_

_1_

Her finger squeezed the button as soon as he passed her, snapping the beginning stages of her paper trail. As soon as he was half a mile up the road, she started to follow him. Just far enough that he couldn't tell he was being followed. In the unmarked car, she was provided with a bit more protection of her identity.

They both inched closer and closer towards the place they had once called home. Each time he had passed a landmark, she had managed to covertly snap a shot to add to the pile. Each mile closer, each building that started looking vaguely familiar, her heart raced faster underneath of her ribcage. 

The moment they had passed the sign, her heart had sunk down to the pit of her stomach. 

_'Welcome to Hawkins.'_


End file.
